


Emrys

by magdelanian



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dystopia, F/M, M/M, Rebellion, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-03 06:56:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5281079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magdelanian/pseuds/magdelanian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Camelot is a city that prides itself on its lawfulness, safety and good quality of life, but of course it doesn't take into account the giant wall that has split the population for hundreds of years, keeping the unsavoury far from sight. After all, the wall cannot be breached - or at least, that's what they thought.</p><p>Or: Merlin is a thief with a plan to bring an end to Uther's regime. He knows it will be challenging. But he doesn't realise just how impossible it will be to build a new life for himself while also fighting for magical freedom.<br/>And it really doesn't help that he keeps running into that prat called Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was a cold night, with a wispy fog rolling in, but the streets on this side of the wall were brightly lit, shining happily along the roadside. It gave the illusion of daylight and safety, a promise that there really was no one lurking in the shadows. The artificial light shone upon the clean, creamy face of a shop, with spotless windows and a prettily painted sign saying CLOSED. It illuminated the small bed of baby pink and lilac flowers, neatly groomed into a perfect square. It brushed ever so slightly on the entrance of a narrow alleyway lined with bags of rubbish and broken-down boxes, ready and waiting to be whisked away by the early morning rubbish trucks. Movement inside the shop created a shadow on the window, and then the door swung open, revealing one rather plump shopkeeper. He was whistling in a mildly out-of-key, happy-to-be-going home manner as he closed the shop - setting the alarm, locking the door, double-checking the handle, putting the key in his pocket before dawdling to his car, quite content. He drove away, as usual, and stillness fell upon the street. Promptly, two boy-shaped bags of rubbish – cast aside in the little alley – stood up and stretched.

The shorter one spoke. ‘You know, I can see why you like it Merlin, but this thing you’ve got for sitting in piles of rubbish all evening has got to stop.’

‘Funny, Will.’

 ‘No, hey, I’m serious! I’m your friend and I love you, but it’s an addiction and dangerous, and really, really smelly-’

Merlin shoved at his arm, trying to glare but smiling a bit too much for him to look even vaguely threatening. ‘I don’t know why I bring you along. All you do is grumble and make too much noise.’

‘You’d die of boredom without me.’

‘Well, true. But I’d like to see you hide us better.’

‘Easy! First, I’d steer clear of rubbish bins. Then I’d hide us in this really flash hotel, with heating and all the food you can imagine. An entire plate of roast chicken.’

‘Right.’ He looked at his friend sceptically. ‘Check to see that it’s clear.’

 Merlin poked his head out the end of the alley, while Will looked the other way.

‘Looks pretty deserted to me.’

In silence they walked out into the light-soaked courtyard in front of the shop, then Merlin walked up to the door and muttered something under his breath. The lock clicked. He whispered again, and the alarm disabled. He entered and then Will followed, looking nervously behind him as he went.

It was a small antiques shop with many useless, inexpensive items, but also a few things that had caught Merlin’s attention when he had visited earlier last week. Will started rummaging through the jewellery, pocketing most of it. Merlin wandered to the back of the shop, in a slow, dreamy manner. The shop was dark and shadowed in contrast to the brightness outside, but it wasn’t grimy or musty. The keeper kept it quite spotless. Everything had its proper place, so Merlin knew exactly where to look: at the back, right where it had been all week, still and unassuming. The book. It wasn’t much to look at. Most people would have breezed past it unaware. After all, if they had known what it was, there was no way it would still be sitting in front of him, untouched. It was brown and faded, with mottled spots of age on the cover. Pages were sticking out, loose and haphazard.

Merlin shivered as he thought how easily he may have overlooked it. He’d been browsing in the front of the shop, trying to look like he belonged, when he heard it. First, it was like ringing in his ears. Not painful or loud, but soft and quiet. It sounded familiar, almost like he had always been hearing that sound, but never noticed until that moment. The moment he realised he was hearing something, it grew louder, and that’s when he felt it. It was a tug on his vision, and he saw it from the other side of the room, brown and manky, and it felt as though even if he never again managed to lift his feet from that spot, the earth would eventually shift to bring them together. At the time, he had swayed and nearly dropped the embellished silver cup he had been holding. Then he had left, hurriedly, but knowing that he had to come back.

And now, standing closer than he had dared to before, Merlin picked it up and turned it over in his hands, touching it for the first time. The soft, high sound it had been emitting ceased. It was his now. He had what he came for.

Walking back to the front of the shop, he saw that Will had arranged a small collection of items that looked like they might be enchanted, and therefore highly sought after back home.

Merlin stooped down and examined the selection, eventually picking: a bracelet, definitely cursed; the silver cup he’d almost dropped earlier that week, which had strange markings engraved into the metal; a watch with an intricate snake design on the face, which Will swore had blinked at him; and what looked like a voodoo doll. Merlin scanned the room, half with his eyes and half with the innate sense that alerted him to the presence of magic. He didn’t see much else, but hanging on the wall – alongside some average looking watercolour landscapes – was a tea towel with a lovely pattern (distinctly un-magical) but he took it anyway because his mother would like it.

They took care to be very quiet as they left, tiptoeing out the door, trying to move gently so there was minimal clanging from the items in their pockets, communicating in the lowest of whispers. Merlin barely even spoke his spells aloud, only the faintest breath of air revealing the presence of magic, as he turned the alarm back on and re-locked the door, quiet and subtle. Then they simply walked away from the shop, hoods and scarves covering their faces, without looking back. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a city, forged in metal and magic – an ancient, legendary, cursed city – and it was called Camelot. It's a city that prides itself on its lawfulness, safety and good quality of life, but of course it doesn't take into account the giant wall that has split the population for hundreds of years, keeping the unsavoury far from sight. After all, the wall cannot be breached - or at least, that's what they thought.
> 
> Or: Merlin is a thief with a plan to bring an end to Uther's regime. He knows it will be challenging. But he doesn't realise just how impossible it will be to build a new life for himself while also fighting for magical freedom.  
> And it really doesn't help that he keeps running into that prat called Arthur.

‘Where’s father?’ he asked, sitting down, still half asleep.

‘You haven’t seen the paper yet, have you?’ Morgana replied, unhelpfully. She was picking at a bowl of berries, looking at him in that aggravating way that made him feel like he was always ten steps behind, and clueless.

‘Morgana, I am talented at many, many things. However, reading in my sleep isn’t one of them.’

They were sitting at a long dining table in an airy room, with French doors that opened out to a balcony. Outside, it was raining grey sheets of water, buffeted by the wind, dancing as it passed over the neighbouring mansions and the early morning world beyond them. He could see the whole city from this window, his vision unblocked until his eyes met with the cold, imposing metal of the wall. Sometimes the sun glinted on it and it shone like the molten core of the earth. Today, though, the bland, metallic features and the unseen lands beyond were enveloped in the rain, which danced there as fondly as it did for the rest of the city.

‘There’s been another of those robberies.’ Morgana spoke up, bored with his lack of response. ‘Only, this time, it was a tiny antique shop. No sign of forced entry, but lots of treasures have gone missing. It wasn’t one of the shops marked as potential targets. Your father’s men are investigating.’

Arthur sighed. The bigger, more prominent stores had constant guard nowadays after it was realised that the robberies were growing more frequent. But there was barely any pattern in where the thieves struck, except for the fact that the stolen items were said to be ancient, said to have ties to magic. Uther and his predecessors had spent many years securing most magical items in safes and secret places where they could not be used by people from the other side of the wall, but they only had amateurs to identify the unfamiliar objects. There was no way of knowing what they had not found, what was lying about waiting to be found. The robberies meant they were a step behind in this process, and left everyone in a very precarious situation. 

‘Were there any witnesses this time?’ he asked. He wasn’t going to read the paper. Morgana would relish the chance of being the knowledgeable one. 

‘None. It was a busy street, though. Suburban area, well-lit. Shop keeper didn’t see anyone – he’s in shock, the poor fellow – and apparently locked up his shop as usual. Security alarm and everything. It was still on when he went in.’

‘But it didn’t go off?’

‘No disturbance. Just like the other cases.’ Morgana smiled in her smug way, but she looked excited, which annoyed Arthur.

‘Don’t look so happy. You know what that means.’

‘Magic.’ Her eyes glinted.

‘Obviously. And it means somehow there are sorcerers in Camelot that haven’t yet been identified. Which is not something to be happy about.’ 

‘I think it’ll liven the place up a bit. The newspapers are already buzzing and it’s only been a few hours.’

‘Liven it up?!’ Now he was just exasperated. ‘We have no idea what could be coming next. For all we know, they could be thinking, oh, just a few burglaries here and there, just to test the waters. And then they’ll get cocky and sure of themselves and it could lead to anything, riots or uprisings, or a bloody magical war! Honestly, you’re out of your mind, Morgana.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, come on! They’re robberies, not terror attacks.’

He groaned. Arguing with Morgana was agonising. ‘They’re robberies now. But god knows what they’ll do with all that stuff they’re stealing-’ 

‘Attack us with musty old tea towels?’ Morgana suggested.

‘Yes! That’s what I’m- wait, what?’ he paused mid-rant.

‘The shop owner listed a decorative tea towel amongst the missing items.’

‘What?!’

‘The newspaper made quite a joke about it. It was one of the most valuable things in the shop. Probably belonged to one of your esteemed ancestors once.’

‘A tea towel.’

‘Mhmm. I’m really so concerned. Frightening. Awful. Inhumane.’

‘Was it . . . magic?’

‘It was a pretty rag, Arthur. Decidedly not magic. It just opens my eyes though, to how dangerous those thieves really are.’

Arthur huffed, and left the table.

*

A very soaked Merlin, accompanied by an equally drowned-looking Will, dashed through the narrow streets of the Free City. It was very late, and Merlin wanted to get back home before Hunith started to worry. They were silent, except for the occasional complaint from Will – generally a rotation of ‘God, Merlin, why’d you have to choose to rob a place so bloody far away’, or ‘fucking rain’, or ‘should’ve stayed home and slept, that’s right’. Merlin didn’t grace any of the complaints with a reply. Will knew very well they had to rob places far from the wall if they wanted to cover their tracks. The magical break-ins were suspicious enough without leading directly to the Free City. It was just lucky that the people in Camelot put so much faith in their mighty wall. Otherwise, these night excursions would become a bit impossible.

They left the main road for a maze of alleyways that got smaller and smaller with every turn. Home was a crowded alleyway barely two-people wide, where the ramshackle walls leaned so far over the path that they created a tunnel, each side leaning on the other to stay standing. Underneath, the rain ceased except for the occasional drip. Merlin eased open a crooked door and ducked inside, his eyes barely adjusting to the sudden light before Freya pushed past him and pulled Will into a tight hug.

Will lifted her up, and spun her around, reciting, ‘Oh fair lady, I have returned from my grievous adventure unscathed but for my heart’s aches, from missing you.’

'He's composed that line over the last four hours, Freya. Just thought you should know,' Merlin said. 

Freya laughed, and kissed Will on the nose. ‘Better than last time, then.’ She then turned to Merlin, and gave him a hug. ‘Did you get the book?’

‘Yep, and some other stuff besides. There was a bracelet you might like, but I’ll have to see if I can undo the curse first.’

Will laughed rather heartily at that, much cheerier now home and slightly warmer. ‘You’d better not. But don’t worry, Freya, I’ve got you plenty of nice uncursed jewellery.’

At the sound of their voices Hunith came in from the back room, a shawl around her shoulders. 

‘Hello- Will, Merlin. I’m glad to see you’re both safe,’ she said, and pulled her son in for a hug. This sort of welcome was routine whenever Merlin went outside of the wall and into Camelot. The unspoken fear, of course, was that when he left he would never make it back.

‘Lance in?’ Will asked.

‘He’s asleep,’ Freya replied.

‘As we should all be,’ Hunith said.

Merlin and Will lingered by the fire for a moment before Hunith herded them towards their beds. They obliged, quite exhausted.

*

By late morning they were all up, although slightly dark under the eyes. Lance was chirpy.

‘Show us what you got, then,’ Lance said as Merlin plodded towards the fireplace, still mostly asleep.

Hunith sat on her chair in the corner of the little room, knitting. Freya was curled up in a blanket and leaning against Will, who was in turn sitting against the wall. Both held a bowl of steaming porridge in their hands as they chatted quietly. Lance hovered behind Merlin, who was getting his own breakfast from the pot hanging over the fire.

Once Merlin was settled in front of the fire, warming his toes, he brought the bag of stolen things flying into his hand. It had been abandoned at the door during their late arrival. He tipped the items out and let Lance go through all of them except for the book, which he sat on his lap. The strange pull he had felt in the shop was gone. Instead, it was more of a warmth that resonated from the book – a sense of familiarity. He gently brushed his fingers over the cover, then opened it and began to read. It was a magic book, full of spells he knew alongside spells completely alien to him – spells that must’ve died out in the Free City after the separation. All tucked away in this book, lost in Camelot where no one could make use of it at all. He had absolutely no idea how it had slipped through their net, which normally identified and destroyed all of the obvious magical items. A book that actually taught magic – well, finding one of those was pretty much improbable.

‘Well, it’s a pretty good loot this time,’ Lance said, having sufficiently analysed the pile. ‘It’s going to trade well. That snake thing looks kind of deadly – someone out there will pay nicely for that, I reckon.’

Merlin nodded, still lost in thought about his book. He had a small idea, one that could potentially explain why this book had fallen through the cracks.

‘Lance – can you take a look at this?’ Merlin asked, passing it to him.  

‘Yeah, sure. This is the thing you were after, right?’ He opened it and quickly scanned through the pages, before looking up at him, confused. ‘It’s blank.’

Merlin raised his eyebrows, surprised. ‘Interesting. I wonder how they did it. . .’ He took the book back, and brought it over to Will and Freya. ‘What do you see?’

They looked it over, and Will laughed. ‘Man, Merlin. I don’t see much at all.’

Merlin nodded. ‘Right. Freya?’

‘Well . . . it’s full of instructions for spells.’ She turned to Will, curious. ‘Can’t you see it?’

‘No . . . ?’ Will flicked through the book quickly. ‘There’s nothing there.’

‘I think that’s the thing,’ Merlin said. ‘You’re not magic, Will, so you can’t see it. And Freya can see it because, well, she is. Lance can’t see it either. That's why they never found it in Camelot. Hidden in plain sight. It’s a bit brilliant, I think.’

‘I didn’t know there was magic like that,’ Freya said.

‘Neither. God, it makes you wonder about the sort of knowledge we’ve lost since the wall was made.’

'No sense in worrying about what could've been, Merlin sweetheart.' His mum smiled at him gently. She then eyed the other side of the room and told him plainly, ‘Your porridge has gone cold.’

‘Ah . . .’ Merlin twisted around, the abandoned bowl sitting small and steam-less in front of the fireplace, then turned back to his mother. He grinned at her, guiltily. ‘Well, I won't worry about it. Though I'm sure it's still delicious.’

Lance was by the door, putting on his threadbare coat. He had the bag of stolen items slung over one shoulder. ‘Alright, bye, everyone. I’ll hopefully be back tonight with a bag full of more useful things. I’ll try get some more bread and potatoes. Did you want more of that wool, Hunith?’

She nodded, ‘Yes, thank you, Lance. That would be lovely.’

‘No use paying for food, surely,’ Will joked. ‘If it wasn’t raining and so bloody cold, I’d go out there myself and save you the trouble.’

‘You know I prefer you all to be honest,’ Hunith scolded.

Will held up his hands, ‘Only joking, swear.’ He winked at Freya.

Hunith tutted, then retreated into the back room, leaving them to their immorality. 

It wasn’t uncommon to receive a lecture from Hunith on the wrongs of stealing every other day. She had been raised in a different world, a different life, and Merlin knew his mother meant well. But for Freya, Will, Lance and himself, Hunith’s values were not really viable. For them, all born of the Free City, stealing was essential. Some years it was life or death, simple as that. They all listened to Hunith’s lectures, of course, and tried to heed her (sometimes), but only Lance really agreed with her and that was because he was so damn honourable. What made Merlin laugh, though, whenever his mum piped up with her disapproval, was her reluctance to mention, let along condemn, their stealing in Camelot. He figured she let it slide because it was _Camelot_ and who didn’t have a grudge against that city?

Lance was rummaging through the bag. ‘Oh, Merlin, did you want this sold?’ Lance lifted the cloth that had been hanging on the wall in the shop.

Freya looked at it, confused. ‘Why’d you steal a dishcloth? Doesn’t seem very magical.’

‘It's not. But in our defence, it was very pretty. Got it for Mum.’ Merlin held his hand up for Lance to throw the tea-towel at him. It was highly intricate, with embroidered words and pictures worthy of a tapestry.

‘Hm, yeah, Hunith will like that. She won’t like that it’s stolen, though,’ Freya said, taking the towel from Merlin and examining it.

‘She doesn’t have to know. Lance could pretend he found it at the market,’ Will suggested.

‘Oh, she’ll know,’ Lance said. He then gave everyone a cheery wave and then ducked outside.

*

Merlin was curled up on the floor, leaning against Freya’s chair, the book resting in his hands. Freya was humming softly, and plaiting a strand of her hair. Merlin’s eyes were starting to go watery; he had been reading all day.

‘You know, Freya, when I found this book it was really strange. It was like it was calling to me. I’ve never felt anything like it before,’ he said to her.

‘Odd,’ she replied. She eyed the frayed binding. ‘How old do you think it is?’

‘It’s probably the oldest magic book I’ve ever seen. It’s definitely powerful. I mean, there’s so much in here, and I’ve barely even started looking through it yet.’

In fact, he was overwhelmed. The odd sensations he’d felt when finding it were nothing compared to reading it. It was rejuvenating and made him feel stronger, as though his magic – that indescribable, golden warmth that fluttered in his veins, as familiar as a heartbeat – flowed closer to the surface of his skin. And that was just holding the thing, let alone the pages upon pages of spells that were now his. Or soon to be his. The matter of learning was one that required time.

Will was in the corner, chopping potatoes, and he gestured towards the book with the knife. ‘Well, I’m glad I’m not the one who has to read through all of that. It’s a bloody brick.’

‘It’s a precious artefact, you heathen.’ Merlin made a potato jump into the bowl of muddy water next to Will, splashing him, and laughed.

‘Aw, Merlin.’ Will brandished the knife again. ‘I’ll get you back, evil sorcerer.’

Freya smiled at the two of them. Outside, night had fallen and the wind was starting to howl. A cold draft came in under the not-quite-long-enough door. She pulled her blanket closer around her shoulders and started coughing. ‘Ew. Great.’

‘Oh god, Freya. Please tell me you’ve not got another cold?’ Will left the potatoes, and went to rub her back.

With another gust of wind, Lance blustered in through the door - very much soaked through, and with a very red nose. 

‘Oh, hello,’ Merlin said. ‘You’ve been out a while.’

‘Ran into a bit of trouble.’ Lance leaned over, catching his breath.

‘What happened?’ Will demanded, concerned enough to move his attention from Freya for a moment.

Lance shivered, and moved dangerously close to the fire. ‘It’s not . . . not good news I’m afraid.’

‘What is it?’ Merlin asked.

He looked at Merlin. ‘Nimueh. She’s looking for you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this, I spent five minutes trying to figure out why 'rambleshack' wasn't a word, before I remembered that it was, in fact, 'ramshackle' and my brain just wasn't working at all. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this !! (i have no idea what i am doing)


	3. Chapter 3

In a harsh line, the wall cut through what had once been the heart of Camelot – a scar on the earth. The land around the wall had long been abandoned and fallen into disrepair. It had been centuries since it was whole, centuries since the rapid construction began. Back then Camelot had been a city in turmoil, fighting a war with itself. The wall was the answer and the end to the years of ceaseless, hopeless fighting. Planned in secret and built in a huge surge of effort, the wall enclosed a vast part of the city, rising higher than any building – a monstrous structure of cold iron, poison to those with magic in their blood, and trapping all those who lived within. What had been home to hundreds of sorcerers and their families became their prison. Of course, there were those that escaped before it was complete, and there were those who had lived away from the district. They survived the initial eradication of magic, but Camelot dealt with them in time. And it was easy – the success of the wall meant Camelot had already won the fight against magic. As the years passed, known sorcerers were captured, abandoned inside and then forgotten. The wall was continually fortified too; with the invention of electricity, it became a blockade to those without magic as well. There was no way out. There could never be a way out.

Outside the wall, the city of Camelot sprawled in every other direction, thriving and illustrious. But while it adapted and modernised, the city within remained a medieval slum. It was a dumping ground for all of Camelot’s undesirables. The wall was guarded but, as long as the people inside stayed away from the towering metal, they were left to themselves. Understandably, this led to a state of constant upheaval. Overpopulation, few resources and mass poverty was only the start of it. People were power-hungry and bitter, and while not everyone had magic, those who did were not afraid to use it to their advantage. As Camelot progressed in peaceful ignorance, the city inside the wall – they called themselves ‘the Free City’ – passed through the hands of dictators and corrupt warlords aplenty. All failed eventually; there were never enough resources to sustain power and placate the people. No matter the year, the people inside suffered.

Many sought to bring about change for the better. It was impossible to look at that hell-hole and not try to fix it. Knowing the history, it was like trying to prove that one day, despite the constant failures and the lack of faith, they might be strong again. Strong enough to make Camelot feel the repercussions of their tyranny. And of all those who had sought to prove this, none had achieved as much as she. Under her watchful eye, the Free City had settled into a precarious stability, one which threatened to overturn at any moment, but a form of stability nonetheless.

Nimueh was her name, and she had done more for her home and the sad, sad people that were imprisoned there, than any who had come before. She burned constantly with cool anger, and her magic tasted bitter. Good people were suffering while a distant city refused to acknowledge their suffering.  She knew the name, too, of the industry behind the surveillance and siege of this prison disguised as a city: Pendragon. The name sounded like poison on her tongue.

Nimueh stood upon the flat roof of one of her buildings; the world around her soaked by wild rain. It did not touch her. This high up, she could look out upon her city, could see its mouldering ruins humming with life. Like bugs beneath the surface of the earth, her subjects crawled and scurried their lives away. Muddied by the rain, rusted by time, Nimueh was amazed the city still stood after all these years, amazed that she understood how those hopeless little people still managed to survive, amazed that with a clench of her fist, a demonstration of her will, she had the power to shake the rusty foundations of this pathetic city all the way to the wall. No further.

Her hand clenched and crushed the pages of a damp newspaper, before dropping it onto the ground. She was supposed to understand everything. And she knew that somehow, somehow, there was someone getting out. She didn’t know how, and she didn’t know who. But she was going to find out. She always did.

*

 Nimueh struck him as rather small when he saw her for the first time. Small, but incredibly present. A glance from her could stop time, dominate his vision, empty his mind. He soon found it was impossible not to know where she was in relation to him, even if he wasn’t concentrating on her movements in the room. She was younger than he thought she’d be, too. He figured her youthful appearance wasn’t nearly as natural as it looked.

She smiled at him, sweet and intimidating.

‘You are Merlin?’

‘Yes,’ he said, nodding. He briefly wondered whether he should address her in a particular way, considering her power (which was immense, especially compared to his, he thought) but she did not seem preoccupied with titles or faux-politeness.

‘I have a few questions for you.’

‘Okay,’ he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

‘Have you any knowledge of recent events in Camelot?’

‘Uh, I don’t think so . . . Um, I mean, I’m familiar with some of it, general stuff, but not all of it. Um.’

Nimueh smiled at his nervousness. ‘Can you read?’

At his nod she placed a piece of paper in front of him. It was black and white, covered in writing of different fonts and sizes – a sheet of newspaper. He looked it over and it was, unfortunately, exactly what he didn’t want to see: a Camelot paper reporting on a certain shop he might have stolen from the other day.

‘I’ll sum it up for you. This is part of a newspaper from Camelot, which is, of course, highly restricted material here, as I’m sure you know. The article in question is concerned with the robbery of a little shop. Some magical items were stolen, and it reports that the break-in itself was aided by magic. All in a city where magic itself is thought to be eradicated. Very interesting, don’t you think?’  

Merlin tried to keep his eyes level with her as she spoke, and ended up sitting very still on his chair. Unnaturally still. There was a desk separating them but he felt like she was prowling towards him, sharp-eyed, even though she hadn’t even leaned forward once. ‘Yes, a little,’ he replied.

‘It isn’t the first, either,’ she continued. ‘I’ve seen the other papers. This is just the latest in a number of magical robberies. And now, the authorities in Camelot are worried. Do you know why?’

‘Um. They don’t know who it is?’ His voice was too quiet.

‘Exactly. How, they ask, could a sorcerer have slipped through their clutches in this day and age? Even after all their efforts. It’s their absolute worst news.’ She paused and smiled at him, and he thought she looked like a shark. ‘So, then, Merlin. From my records, however unreliable they may be, it appears that you have magic. Am I right?’

‘Y-yes.’

She nodded at that. ‘Well, because I always welcome the input of a kinsman, what do you think of the whole scandal?’ she asked.

‘What do I think?’ He paused in hope of coming up with an answer, anything to hide the truth. ‘Um. I think it’s positive. For us, for the Free City, I mean. Because . . . it means there’s still magic out there. That we’re not the only ones.’

‘Mm. I agree.’

He didn’t know what to say. There was a part of his mind that was laughing hysterically, in fearful shock, while he sat there wide-eyed. Luckily, she spoke up again.

‘Where were you that night?’

Well then, maybe not so luckily.

‘Um- I was at home.’

She looked at him. He looked at her. She breathed out in a short sigh. He held his breath.

‘Okay, then. You’re free to go.’

He breathed out. ‘Oh. Really?’

‘Actually, no. I just wanted to see how you’d react.’

‘Oh.’ He could barely hear his own voice.

‘Tell me. How did you get past the wall?’

‘I- I didn’t?’

‘No, you did. See, I would have believed that the robberies were the work of someone in Camelot, if it wasn’t for a little message I received. Something about, oh, two young men approaching the wall and going through it. And returning later that night. I know it was you. You were followed home.’ Her eyes did not move from his, and she did not blink. ‘Don’t worry. You’re not in any trouble.’

‘Oh. Well. Um.’

‘Is there a special spell? A weakness in its structure that I don’t know about? How do you do it?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. I mean, I think . . .’

‘You think what?’

‘Um, well, I think I’m immune to the metal. Somehow. It doesn’t affect me, or hurt me – at least not as much as it does for others. I don’t know why.’ Nimueh watched him for a moment, then stood and started pacing behind her desk. As she paced, she continued talking.

‘How does it react to your magic?’

‘It’s just like any other metal, I guess, when I try to alter it. But it’s not easy. It works, but it resists.’

‘How long have you known how to do this?’

‘Half a year.’

‘How did you discover that the metal didn’t affect you?’

‘Um. Well, I was dared by my friend. To see how close I could get, I mean. And then I realised I could touch it.’

‘Does it hurt you?’

‘When I touch it, yes. And it clogs up my magic. But only if I touch it. Either way, it’s draining.’

‘Why did you go to Camelot?’

The change of topic startled him slightly. ‘To explore. See what it was like.’

‘Did you go alone?’

‘Yes. But also with my friends. Not all of us at once though.’

‘How did they get through?’

‘They’re not sorcerers, any of them. So I don’t know if that had anything to do with it. But they just went through with me, when I parted the metal.’

‘Why did you start stealing?’

‘Um. Well, I realised there was all this magical stuff lying around gathering dust in the old shops over there. I don’t think they realised what a lot of them were. But I figured they could be useful, or valuable. My friends mostly took things he thought would trade for a bit. Like jewellery. But I wanted to bring the magic stuff back to where it belongs, I guess.’

She stopped pacing to look at him, surprised.

‘That’s actually intelligent.’ She paused, then said, ‘You could prove very useful, you know.’

Merlin’s heart was still beating erratically, but he was gradually calming. He figured the promise of _you’re not in any trouble_ had something to do with that.

Nimueh continued speaking. ‘This has never happened before. Never, in the entire history of this cursed city, has anyone been able to get out.’ She walked up to him and as he turned to look at her, she brushed her fingertips across his cheek, in an oddly fond manner. ‘Why you, then?’

She was so close to him her breath warmed his skin. He stayed as still as he could. The moment stretched impossibly long, then she moved away.

‘You’re free to go. I mean it this time.’

When he was at the door, she called out.

‘I’ll be in touch, Merlin.’

 

*

 

Merlin saw Nimueh many more times over the following weeks. Those occasions were vastly different to that first uncomfortable meeting. He was still wary of Nimueh, although her confidence and her power was strangely seductive, and he found himself almost unwillingly attracted to the powerful enchantress - or perhaps to the idea of her. Merlin knew Will and Freya were dubious about his sudden involvement with the higher powers. Will hadn’t reacted well and wasn’t really speaking to him – Merlin thought that perhaps it was a potent mix of jealousy and concern – and he knew that Freya worried for his safety.  Lance, on the other hand, was interested; he had a keen mind for politics, or whatever it was that Merlin had suddenly found himself caught up in. His mum was fretting about the turn of events. When Nimueh’s armed guard had first appeared at their front door to take him away to the meeting, Hunith had turned as pale as milk. The more she learnt about what he would have to do, the more she begged him to say no. Once she even suggested going into hiding, at which point he knew she wasn’t thinking straight. No one could hide from Nimueh. And on top of that, he doubted saying no had ever been an option.

As their meetings progressed, he felt himself rising to a level where he was more her equal. She no longer demanded answers from him; instead, they discussed ideas and (almost) argued over plans. The final decisions still came from her, though, so he had to disclose any ideas of his own to let her mull them over. However, Merlin did find himself with a sudden excess of knowledge about the two cities and Nimueh’s many plans concerning Pendragon Security, and on top of all that, she aided him in his practise of magic. Nimueh was a brilliant sorcerer and teacher, and Merlin was learning faster than he ever had on his own. But it was all for a purpose, and four weeks after their first meeting, he and Nimueh came to the end of their private talks.

 

‘Promise me you’ll look after yourself, alright?’ Hunith said, hugging him.

Merlin laughed. ‘I am coming back, you know. But I will.’

They made an odd sight, his farewell gathering. There was Will, stand-offish in the back corner, looking like he wanted to hug Merlin too but couldn’t quite manage to move his feet. Reflecting his position exactly from the other corner was one of the armed, unidentifiable guards that Nimueh brought with her at all times, decked out in dark leathers and metals, with a weapon in obvious display. Nimueh herself stood next to the guard, arms crossed. She wasn’t anywhere near the centre of the room, but somehow she still commanded everyone’s gaze. Freya was visibly frightened of Nimueh and the guard, Merlin could tell that much, and he was grateful that Lance placed himself forward, in front of her, partially blocking her from view.

His mother kissed him on the cheek, then moved away to stand by the door. Merlin went to his friends. Lance clapped him on the shoulder with an encouraging smile, Freya gave him a fleeting hug and a solemn, ‘Good luck,’ and then he and Will eyed each other warily. 

‘See you, then.’ Merlin said

‘Yeah. Soon?’

‘Hopefully.’ He smiled at his best friend.

Then he gave Nimueh a nod, and left.

Outside, a breath of bitter cold air woke up Merlin’s distracted thoughts and suddenly all the plans he and Nimueh had discussed were running through his mind without any order or sense. He was walking without really thinking, but his legs were taking him towards the wall, where he needed to be. Where he needed to go. Merlin found himself just as tense as the atmosphere of the farewell, and knew that the way he was walking purposefully towards the wall would make him stand out to any observer, but it was early dawn and there was no one about. As he kept accidentally stepping in puddles, he realised that, awful as it was, leaving by himself was a lot better than if everyone had come with him to the wall. He’d wondered about it, but Nimueh thought it was would be incredibly conspicuous to say goodbye at the actual barrier. She was right; this way he could slink through the grey, smoky streets unnoticed. And he didn’t think he could have coped with a prolonged goodbye. It had been bad enough as it was, short and sharp.

Merlin was draped in a baggy black overcoat, which hung off his shoulders in large folds. There was a tatty red scarf wrapped around his neck, with the ends trailing in the rough wind and  his hands worried the fabric of a dark hood, which he was going to use to cover his face when the time came to cross to the other side, in case of security cameras.  The history of a false life he had never lived, and was never going to truly live, was circling through his mind, and the closer he got to the wall, the more determined the glint in his eyes became. It was happening. He walked with his head held high, marching straight towards the imposing metal structure without awe, refusing to look up at the scale of the awful thing, completely and utterly focused on his task. It was dark, grey and cold; the sun rose on the other side of the wall, so there were never any signs of sunrays before midday. He shivered.  

As he came closer, Merlin felt the gnawing, dull cold that the wall radiated. It was almost like burning, or the strange sensation of touching ice cold water when, for a moment, the brain is shocked into thinking it is scalding. From what Nimueh had told him, the wall caused that sensation to arise in her at least ten metres away, and with every step it became more unbearable. Merlin could bear it, but it made him uneasy, and he had to consciously brush aside the feeling as it sought to distract the path of his magic.

Concentrating on the cold iron was hard. His eyes kept going out of focus, and he thought he might have been swaying. The shimmer of magic in his veins was minute; the magic was withdrawn, hiding from him, so he had to coax it out, slowly, and his eyes fluttered closed. He had to be gentle, careful, to ever so slowly catch it. A beat of his heart. Once, then again, the world was still, he heard nothing. Then, Merlin had it. Involuntarily, his body jerked and his eyes burst open as he grasped at the elusive strength within him, the words spilling from his mouth, the metal in front of him tinting gold. A second passed where nothing happened. Suddenly, the metal began to boil, writhing and frothing as it melted into itself. Merlin watched calmly, lightheaded and distracted by the icy burn of the iron, until there was room enough for him to step through.

One step forward and a ray from the rising sun caressed his skin. The moment he relaxed, his magic leapt back within him like elastic, and the metal of the wall snapped back to shape as though nothing had ever happened.

 Once again, he was in Camelot.


	4. Chapter 4

For all Merlin and Nimueh’s talking, there was no definite plan of action. He was, more or less, on his own.

In Camelot, the light was brighter. The air was warmer (only slightly), the city was cleaner, the people were less intimidating, most of the buildings were structurally sound – all had electricity – and Merlin felt that he very firmly did not belong. It was like that on the occasions he came here with his friends as well, but another’s company could do plenty for feeling like he was allowed to be walking the streets. People were looking at him, judging his too-big coat, he was sure. There were a few sneers, but most of it was down to his own paranoia.

One thing that helped him feel less obtuse was the comforting sensation of doing more or less what he always did in Camelot: stealing. He was casing the joint, which just happened to be a very large city. Merlin needed to know its weaknesses and its strengths, he needed to understand how it functioned, how it reacted. But he’d never really spoken to anyone from Camelot before, and he didn’t quite know how to begin. It was times like this that Merlin wished he had even a little of Lance’s natural charisma. Even walking next to these people made him feel bloody suspicious.

His task required more than just knowledge of Camelot, though. Merlin knew that. He had to integrate himself into the new world, he had to become trusted, he had to slip into people’s lives so seamlessly that they never doubted him, so that they could never remember a time that he wasn’t there. Nimueh had emphasised this. He had to become the Merlin that people wanted him to be, whoever that was. It would take time.

So it was that in the early morning sunlight, in his big, scruffy coat and red scarf, magic flittering in his veins, Merlin the wizard-turned-thief set off to become Merlin of Camelot: a completely, dependably normal boy.

He knew it was going to be hard. He just hadn’t believed it could ever be so entirely impossible.  

*

Merlin was in a busy public area, it was rainy, and he was feeling miserable and hungry and sick. Day after day exposed to the elements had taken its toll; he wasn’t sleeping well at night, he couldn’t remember the last full meal he’d eaten, he needed to be in the public areas to gather information but there were always too many people around for him to do magic, so he couldn’t solve any of his other problems as easily as he would have liked. All in all it left him so wretched that he hadn’t made any progress in weeks.  

When a particularly raucous gust of wind threatened to bowl him over, Merlin knew he had to find shelter somewhere warm and out of the path of the storm, so he ducked into the space between a rundown pub and a bustling Italian restaurant. Camelot’s alleyways really were becoming his forte. He let himself slump against the wall of the restaurant, sniffling. The longer he spent here, the harder he found it to let his magic go free. Visits with his friends had always been relatively exciting and fun, and his magic had come as happily as it had at home. But here it was as miserable as he was and left him tense, out-of-sorts. He held his hands out in front of him in the gloom and studied them: pale and spindly, with dirt under the fingernails – a very sorry sight.  The worry that he could be caught so easily sat like a dead stone in his gut, but he was cold, oh so cold, and surely just a little wouldn’t hurt. Just a little flame, to keep the night at bay, if only his hands would stop shaking for a moment. Shivering. Another gust of wind howled outside of the alley and he decided to risk it. The words were on the tip of his tongue as he looked up, guiltily looking to one side and then the next, barely expecting to see anything except for an empty alleyway, when he realised with a cold jolt that there was someone leaning against the opposite wall, barely a step away, and watching him very concernedly. 

Merlin flinched and, forgetting how close he was to the wall behind him, scraped his elbows against the rough brick, which turned his initial gasp of shock into a yelp of pain.

‘Shit,’ he said, emphatically. ‘Ow.’ His coat now sported two holes, one per elbow.

The man looked bewildered, and he seemed to be leaning as far from Merlin as he could.

Merlin rubbed his elbow, trying to stop himself from panicking because it had been so close, for all his caution he was becoming careless, he had been moments away from ruining it all, he was stupid stupid stupid, it had been so close. His stomach was now heavy with horror, on top of how poorly he was feeling already, which was just unfair.

So of course he said, ‘I didn’t see you there.’

‘No, I really don’t think you did.’

The man spoke with a posh accent. Hearing it, Merlin shrunk into the depths of his coat, knowing that it confirmed how very far from home he was, knowing he should probably be doing the opposite, something like making a good impression or digging for information or pretending he was someone he wasn’t. But he couldn’t do it. He was hungry and tired and sick. Nothing was familiar and he felt overwhelmingly scared. So when the man huffed an awkward laugh, with tones of ‘what an odd and unexpected event we find ourselves in, I’ll try to make some light of it’ Merlin stayed silent. It was almost involuntary. He couldn’t really find his voice.

The man shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yeah,’ Merlin mumbled. Then he sneezed. The man visibly recoiled.

‘Terrible weather, isn’t it?’ The man was trying to be polite. Bless him, Merlin thought.

Merlin didn’t reply. He just watched him warily, tried to huddle deeper in his jacket. Another howling gust tore past the street outside, and the man looked sharply in that direction.

‘Um, I think I heard, uh, I heard my name being called. Yes. Better go.’

Merlin didn’t return the man’s nod, watched him turn the corner, and then slid down the wall, pulling his knees into his chest, shaking.

He didn’t move until morning, waking from a restless sleep still cold and damp, too afraid to use magic.

*

On sunny days, Merlin liked to go to the gardens. There was nothing like them back home. He sat on a bench, basking in the gentle warmth, quite often with his eyes shut so he appeared asleep, but just as often with them wide open as he watched those that went by. There were couples and children and elderly and people walking by themselves, lost in their music, or people taking photos, people arguing, people kissing, people smiling at everything, people thinking so deeply that their faces frowned. Most just walked past him, though there was one girl who walked through the park quite regularly – around midday, with a sandwich and a bottle of apple juice – and she smiled at Merlin. After seeing him a few more times she started saying hello too.

He knew he was wasting time. But what had started with mild confidence had soon dwindled into confusion and the feeling that he had taken on a job too big. He barely knew where to start; with Nimueh it had seemed so easy. Step one, find a way in, a way to get information. But he hadn’t accounted for the scale of things. So many people, so many places. It was like he was waiting for a miracle to happen.

For food, stealing money was the easiest way to go. Shops had too much security, for which he was probably to blame, as they all feared a magical burglary from an unidentified thief. People were easier to target. He tried not to take much and, depending on how hungry he was, he generally tried to target those who looked like they had more. It kept him on edge, though, and food was expensive. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself. One thing that helped was that people weren’t on the look-out for magical pickpockets. At home, stealing was common as dirt. Merlin had fond memories of running around the streets with Will, Freya and eventually Lancelot – part of a pack of skinny, ferocious children. Competition, scarcity and defensive people trained clever and quick thieves. Here, petty theft was easier than child’s play – and Merlin was judging based on his own experiences. The loot in the Free City was nothing compared to the loads of money that Camelot’s citizens carried around. And in Camelot, no one had learnt to beware people bumping into them. They weren’t watching for a tell-tale glint in people’s eyes, golden like the sun. Of course, he made sure to keep his eyes down, just in case, but he doubted anyone in Camelot even remembered that magic was visible through the eye of the sorcerer.

One morning, Merlin was in the midst of a pedestrian chaos, stranded on the edge of a footpath packed with people rushing to and fro. He stood by a lamp-post, waiting for the opportunity. That particular morning, he was ravenous and impatient. He saw a blond man striding through the mass of bodies, efficient and determined. He was on the phone- distracted. Fancy clothes – money. His hands were nowhere near his pockets, and, best of all, out of one of his pockets Merlin could see the distinct corner of a black leather wallet.

He moved into the throng, walking quickly, keeping his head down. His eyes glinted with gold, and the magic did its work- slipping a wad of cash outside of its leather casing. Angling himself towards the man – he looked rich and important – Merlin’s hand dove close to the cash, and his magic pulled it into his fingers with a snap. No physical contact necessary. He was slipping the money into his pocket, stepping away without even the slightest break in his walk, already beginning to savour breakfast, when he felt a tug on his arm and came to an abrupt stop.

‘You!’

‘Me?’ He looked at the man he had just robbed.

‘You’re the one from the alleyway.’

Merlin’s eyes widened as he remembered. ‘Oh. Right. I guess.’

The man put away his phone as he looked him over. ‘You really should get a new coat you know. That one looks like it could do with a wash. Though it’s nice to see you not, you know, soaking wet.’

Merlin frowned at the sudden onslaught, then gave that up when the man looked as though he had just realised the abruptness of his own words, and instead Merlin just laughed at the absurdity of the situation. ‘I didn’t know you were the authority on coats.’ 

The man lost his doubtful expression. ‘I should be. I have excellent taste. Better than you, that’s for sure.’

‘Hey! I’ve got great taste in coats. This one’s got character. More than I can say for yours.’

‘Oh really? You look more coat than man.’

‘It’s character building. Unlike yours. Yeah, just how many paycheques did it cost for that boring thing?’

‘More than you’ll ever seen in your life.’

‘And that’s a good thing? Mine was hand-me-down, though, actually, you probably don’t know what that means. I’ll translate, it means free.’

‘And tasteless,’ the man laughed.

‘Maybe, but you paid too much for a coat anyone could wear. But this coat? Priceless, and you would never be able to pull it off.’

‘No, I wouldn’t,’ the man agreed. ‘And neither can you.’

Merlin laughed incredulously. They had been pushed over to the edge of the footpath by the ever-moving crowd, and he scratched his head while wondering what exactly was happening. Now that he could look at him properly- considering this time it was actually light and he wasn’t just seeing a faceless target with money in the pocket, he thought that the man was very good-looking, with his shiny hair and strong jawline. There was a healthy glow about him that didn’t exist in the people over the wall.

Once again, Merlin was overwhelmed with the feeling that this was a chance waiting for him, that he should dig for information or find a way into this man’s life, that by doing so he would have a way in, he would finally step past step one. But just like in the alley, he found himself shrinking away. He wasn’t scared this time, although the fact that he currently had the contents of the man’s wallet in his pocket wasn’t exactly ideal, but he somehow knew that he wasn’t ready. That was true; he had no idea how to get this man to befriend him or trust him. He simply knew he was important, or could be important. And it was definitely an added bonus that he was so beautiful. Maybe it was the fact that he’d already stolen from him today. He didn’t want to do anything else.

So even as the man smiled down at him, amused, Merlin retreated back inside his shell of anonymity and said, ‘Sorry, I have to go now,’ as the clock chimed nine. He gave the man a weak smile as a sort of peace offering, then he melted into the crowds and walked away, without looking back. If he had, he would have seen the man watching him with a concerned and confused frown.

He ended up at the gardens. The money was burning a hole in his pocket, and not because he wanted to spend it, but because he wanted to give it back. He wished he’d never taken it, he wished he’d chosen someone else to target, he wished the man had never recognised him and pulled him aside. He still hadn’t eaten and to make things worse, another winter storm was blowing in. But worst of all, he was mentally berating himself for being too soft. He’d had a chance, and he’d dropped it. And there was a part of him that was upset because this meant he wouldn’t see the man again and he really, really wanted to, even though he came across as rude and snobbish and probably not worth any of Merlin’s time. He wanted to make him laugh again. He wanted to know his name. This clashed inside him with the part that knew he was tied to Nimueh in a deal that was more important than any of his feelings. It hurt, it hurt so much, to cut himself off like this. The faces of his family were stagnant in his mind, paused at the time he had last seen them. He missed a roof over him at night and hot soup. He missed company. He wanted to befriend that beautiful man for himself, and not because Nimueh would have called him an ‘important-looking figure with connections’.

Walking away had been weak for both sides of his mind: the warm, loving side craving any form of human affection and the cold, sensible, intellect-driven side. He was having a crisis; it was only just now hitting him that he needed a tough outer layer, more than he had ever before, he needed to be hard and wily and ruthless. So as he stood beneath a lifeless tree that morning, and as the rain began to spit distastefully upon the muddy earth, Merlin resolved he would not back down again. He was not a coward.

It hurt so much.

‘Are you alright?’

Yet another fright, although this time the voice came from over his shoulder. For a moment he hoped that it would be the coat snob, but then another part of him shut that down, and by that time he had spun around on the spot, startled, to see that it was not the blonde man at all. It was the kind woman, the one who always smiled and said hello, with the apple juice.

Before he could speak, she started apologising. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you. Not that you look scared or anything, I really didn’t think. I – oh – I suppose you want me to just stop talking,’ she trailed off, sheepish.

He studied her for a moment. ‘Don’t worry about it. I was only a little bit alarmed.’  Merlin shook off all of his internal chaos and grinned at her. Two strangers in one morning talking to him – he must be making progress.

She smiled back from beneath her umbrella. ‘That’s good then. I wouldn’t want you to think me rude.’

‘Not at all. I’m Merlin, by the way.’

‘I’m Guinevere,’ she said.

‘That’s a beautiful name.’

She blushed faintly, ducking her head. ‘Thank you. Most people call me Gwen though.’

‘Well then, Gwen,’ he said, smiling a little at the rhyme. ‘What are you up to in the gardens on such a rainy day like this?’

‘Oh! That’s what I was going to ask you before I went and startled you and rambled on and everything. It is a bit wet isn’t it?’ She looked at him, concerned at his rained-on state, before her eyes went round. ‘Oh, god, I’m being thoughtless, aren’t I? Do you want to come under my umbrella? The tree’s not doing much good as shelter, is it? I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked sooner.’

Merlin felt bombarded by questions, but ducked under the umbrella without much hesitation.

‘Thanks,’ he said, meaning it.

She still looked mortified. ‘I’m sorry, there I was standing under my umbrella, hoping you wouldn’t think me rude, all the while you’re standing there freezing as you’re soaked by the rain. Oh, I’m sorry! I’m not normally this thoughtless. Am I covering you enough?’

‘Gwen, everything’s fine, don’t worry,’ Merlin said. He liked this girl immensely, though he’d never heard anyone apologise so many times in one breath.

‘Okay. I’ll try.’ She smiled hesitantly, before giving in and continuing. ‘But . . . you must be so cold! You’ll get sick, surely. Do you have anywhere to go? I always see you here, and when I did just now, I thought, ‘surely he’s not out in the rain’, and then I thought ‘somebody should help’, and then I thought- well, I could! Help, I mean.’ She paused, and bit her lip. ‘Not that I’m saying you’re homeless. Or anything. I don’t know why you’re here, I just thought maybe that’s why…’

He touched a hand lightly to her arm and said, ‘Breathe.’

She laughed, if a little nervously.

He took a deep breath and said, ‘You’re right, though. I don’t really have a place to go. Not really.’

‘Oh. Okay. Right.’ She looked him over. ‘Promise me you’re not creepy.’

‘What?!’ He was taken-aback.

‘Are you creepy?’

‘No?’

‘Will you kill me when my back is turned?’

‘Um, no. Gwen, what-’

‘Do you have the bizarre but sudden urge to rob me?’

‘No, of course not!’ The money in his pocket, although it wasn’t hers, felt heavy.

‘Well then. I don’t live alone.’

‘Er . . . okay. Wondrous to know . . . I think.’

‘Do you want to come back to mine to get out of the rain? Seeing as you’re, you know, a bit . . . well, homeless.’

‘A bit homeless?’

‘Do you?’

‘Gwen, I couldn-’

‘Yes or no?’ Gwen’s change from timid to fierce was a scary one.

‘Um, yes, okay. Yes,’ Merlin said, frantically.

‘Great.’ She looked him up and down, then promptly stood up straight. ‘Let’s go, then.’

Without looking back at him she set off back across the gardens, letting Merlin catch up while he tried not to get his hair caught in the spokes of the umbrella. They left through an entrance Merlin hadn’t used yet, on the far side of the park. He followed her at her fast pace until they reached a bus stop, where they waited for a few minutes in a sort of comfortable silence, sheltered from the downpour which had turned violent. Gwen seemed to be quite alarmed with her impromptu decision, so Merlin didn’t mind just tagging along quietly as she tossed up the pros and cons of this new situation. He figured she was worried that if she spoke, she’d end up telling him it was a mistake and that he should probably just go. He used the silence to form a plan of action, because this was his miraculous second chance of the day and he wasn’t going to let it go. It was his step one.

The bus came, and he followed her on it hesitantly. It was his first step inside any type of vehicle, and it was daunting. He couldn’t let her know that, though.

She relaxed once they took their seats. ‘So, Merlin. Um, how are you feeling? Apart from the obvious, I mean.’ Gwen gestured at his bedraggled state.

 ‘A little overwhelmed, I think,’ Merlin replied softly. ‘This morning, I never imagined . . . I couldn’t’ve predicted this if I tried. Though it’s nice to be out of that,’ he said, gesturing at the rain lashing against the windows.

‘Oh, yes. That’d be awful, being out there for more than a few minutes.’ She looked at him with sympathetic eyes. ‘But I guess I’m a bit startled too,’ she confessed. ‘You could probably tell. I mean, I don’t do things on impulse like that very often. Well, not – not ever, really.’

‘Maybe impulsiveness is actually your guilty secret.’ Merlin smiled at her mischievously. ‘There’s no point in denying it, Gwen. You’re the most reckless person on this bus. But don’t worry- your secret’s safe with me.’

Gwen laughed. ‘Hardly. When everyone finds out I’ve invited a complete stranger back to mine, they’ll see my recklessness for what it is.’

‘Or maybe they’ll see a good woman doing a good deed. They’ll say- look at that Gwen! So caring and thoughtful, a real gift for the world. They won’t know that you seek out the bizarre, that you like to throw away all reason in the face of danger. But I will.’

She laughed again. ‘You’re strange.’

‘Thanks?’

‘Oh! In a good way, I mean. I think.’

‘That’s so very reassuring. I think we’ll make good friends, Guinevere. Undercover impulsive and destitute bizzarity.’

‘That’s not a word.’

‘No, it definitely is. I would know. After all, I am a destitute bizzarity.’

‘Right. But I agree.’ Gwen turned shy all of a sudden. ‘I can see us becoming friends too.’

They smiled each other happily, then sat in a comfortable silence. The bus had left the city centre and now travelled uphill, entering an expensive looking suburb full of too-large houses. Soon Gwen signalled her stop, and Merlin followed her off onto the footpath. There was a short walk up a steep hill mostly spent dodging raindrops, then they came out on another road where the houses were ridiculously big. The windows glinted with excess money. The gardens were manicured to painful perfection. Merlin looked at them in awe. There was no way down-to-earth Gwen, with all her bumbling sweetness, lived there.

He was wrong, because she led him down a brick pathway alongside a creamily coloured house – if you could give it such a lowly name – and right in through a door at the back.

Gwen shook out the umbrella and set it aside, while Merlin looked around him.

It was a very comfortable room, more impressive than anywhere he had ever set foot in before. The walls were painted a duck-egg blue, a crackling fire in the corner radiated warmth, there was a small wooden table in the centre – covered in books, loose wool and a jumper in the process of being knitted – and surrounded by a mismatching of oversized, cosy armchairs. Warm golden light streamed from an open door, through which he could see a small, cluttered kitchen. Remembering the size of the building from the outside, Merlin was left awestruck as he tried to comprehend the overwhelming wealth and comfort of such a home.

‘You never told me you lived somewhere so fancy,’ he said. ‘How many rooms are there?!’

Gwen frowned. ‘It’s not that fancy, is it? I suppose it is quite nice. But there’s only five rooms here.’ 

‘Only five?’ He was incredulous. ‘Gwen, you live in a mansion!’

A look of realisation brushed across her features. ‘Oh, no! I see what you’re thinking. But I don’t live in a mansion, just nearby a lot of them.’ When he still looked sceptical, she explained further. ‘I’m not lying- you’re just confused because of all the big houses. This one’s joined to a mansion, but it’s a separate home in its own right. I think it used to belong to a gardener who worked for the family next door.’

‘Okay, I believe you. It’s nice, though. Bigger than anything I’ve known.’

‘Well – it’s home. This way.’

Gwen took him out of the front room to the kitchen and then directed him to the bathroom.

‘The shower is in there – go warm up. You can help yourself to any of the soaps and shampoos. I’ll leave you some of my brother’s clothes outside the door for when you’re done.’ She smiled pleasantly.

‘Thanks,’ he said, hoping he could figure out what in hell a shower was. The room was absent of a bath, with a strange box in the corner instead. Before undressing, he tried to figure it out. There was a tap on the wall, any words or letters replaced by dashes, and coloured pictures of water drops. He turned it experimentally, only to be doused by a stream of cold water. Hoping red meant warm, he turned it to that and rid himself of his filthy, soaked clothes.

As it turned out red did mean warm, so Merlin happily tucked that fact away before letting himself enjoy the bliss, his mind tranquil and blank.

Once he was clean, he cocooned himself within a towel – it was so unbelievably soft, so fluffy – and peered around the door to get the clothes Gwen left for him. His own clothes were in a little puddle on the tiles. Merlin would have dried them with magic if he were at home, but that would only make Gwen suspicious, of course. So he left them. Putting on the other clothes revealed that Gwen’s brother was quite a lot bigger than him, and while Merlin’s other clothes had been wet, he drowned in these in a very different way. The t-shirt was wide across the shoulders and wide across the chest, but it was fine compared to the waistband of a pair of sweatpants which, although elastic, sat very low on his hips, threatening to drop at any moment. A quick mutter of a spell and the elastic shrunk, pulled itself inwards. He hoped Gwen’s brother wouldn’t notice. Before he left, he retrieved the stolen money from his pile of clothes, and slipped it into his pocket.

Gwen was in her poky little kitchen; Merlin followed the clattering noise of metal spoons in metal pots.  She glanced at him.

‘Oh dear, they are a bit too big. Sorry about that. They were the smallest I could find. You must be awfully thin.’ She trailed off, thinking. ‘When was the last time you ate?’

‘Um, yesterday, I think. Maybe the day before.’

Her mouth fell open slightly, eyes widening with a mixture of pity and shock. ‘You poor thing. Okay, you come right this way and sit down.’

From behind, she pushed him into the front room, even as he protested and tried to stand still, and moved him onto one of the chairs, which he sunk into with an unintentional, quiet sigh of relief. Gwen smiled at the noise.

‘See, I knew you were tired. Now, don’t you move, I’ll be right back.’

‘Gwen, you really don’t have to-’ as she darted out of the room, Merlin trailed off, gratefully resigning himself to her hospitality, and feeling the warmth of the fire lull him ever so gently, ever so softly.

Ten minutes later, Gwen came back into the front of the room bearing a bowl of steaming hot stew. Merlin took it from her dozily, thanking her, before attacking his first good meal in weeks.

For a moment, Gwen watched him inhale his meal, then went and got hers, and by the time she got back, the bowl was sitting on the ground, licked clean, and Merlin himself was curled up on the chair fast asleep, the dirt that had coated him earlier cleaned away, revealing pale skin touched with pink from the warmth and shiny black hair still damp.


	5. Chapter 5

In that gentle moment, right before full consciousness, everything was so still. There was the distant burr of cars, of course, and the occasional chirp from the trees outside. Inside, the most prominent sound was his soft breathing on the pillow – rhythm and peace – in then out, in then out, in then out. The soft, bobbly sheets and the squishy mattress engulfed him in a nest of warmth. Oh, how he wished he never had to open his eyes. He nuzzled into his pillow, then blinked and saw the soft light peeking around the curtains, and he smiled.

Gwen’s absence explained the house’s silence. Merlin shuffled through her collection of rooms, feeling awkward and out of place even though he knew there was absolutely no one watching. As he snooped, his stomach complained. It wasn’t unusual; the distant grumble in his stomach had been his constant companion and immediate priority for as long as he could remember.

Everything in Gwen’s home was fancy, unfamiliar and more than a little daunting. In the kitchen, there was a fancy cupboard that didn’t match anything else and kept food cold. There was a machine covered in buttons. The biggest button said _Start,_ so of course he pressed it, bringing the machine humming into life so quickly that he bolted right back. It was like magic. He didn’t know how to stop the whirring thing, so he just left it, and soon enough it beeped at him aggressively, before letting the house return to silence. He opened all the draws, fidgeting with gadgets that had little cogs and handles to spin, then put things back in the wrong place and hoped Gwen wouldn’t notice, shut the draws, opened more cupboards that didn’t keep food cold and wondered what he could eat. In the end he settled on some bread as his safest option – not knowing what was okay to take and what wasn’t. It was ironic, really, that after all his days of stealing food and money whenever he could, he found it impossible to take something that might infringe on Gwen’s hospitality.

While chewing on the bread, which was thin and sweet and not very filling, he vaguely recalled an ancient rite which cursed those who betrayed their host’s hospitality by harming them. It was all related to food – once he had eaten under her roof, she was safe. Of course, it always paid to follow ancient laws. Not that he would ever harm Gwen. Despite that, there was the persistent nagging thought in the back of his mind, constantly whispering _you know what you have to do._ It really sounded rather too much like Nimueh.  

 *

It was evening by the time Merlin heard slow footsteps outside the house. Gwen trudged in through the door and automatically fumbled for the light-switch, plunging the house into darkness.

‘What?’ she muttered, confused, before flicking it back on and frowning.

Merlin stood on the other side of the room, and held up a hand in a small wave.

Gwen laughed. ‘Oh, of course! You turned them on. How are you doing?’

‘You know, I haven’t felt this good in a very long time,’ he said, and meant it.

‘That’s definitely understandable,’ Gwen said as she dropped her bag on the cluttered table, and then sunk into an armchair. ‘Hey, I’ve got a friend coming over soon, you okay with that?’

‘Yeah, of course. It is your house,’ he said, grinning. ‘Though, if you want me to, I can make myself absent. Don’t want to intrude, you know. . . ’

‘No not at all! She’ll love you, anyway. You have to meet her.’

They were in the middle of eating when they heard a quiet knock at the door. Gwen stood up immediately and went to open the door to, presumably, her friend. Merlin stayed in his armchair, quite still, feeling oddly shy. A tall, dark-haired woman entered the room. Her eyes fell on Merlin immediately.

‘You didn’t tell me you were seeing someone, Gwen.’

Gwen’s eyes widened and her face went pink. ‘No, we’re not – ’

Simultaneously, Merlin shook his head, also going red.

The woman smirked, then stepped towards Merlin, holding out a hand. ‘Morgana.’

He took her hand, highly aware of his undoubtedly red ears, and shook it firmly. ‘Merlin. Nice to meet you.’

‘Likewise.’ Morgana smiled at him.

She was a dignified woman – she held herself tall and spoke with all her syllables clearly enunciated, and every part of her was perfectly groomed from her creaseless clothes and shiny smooth hair, to her delicately applied make-up. He felt dishevelled next to her, and that was after he had cleaned himself up.

‘How long have you known Gwen?’ she asked him, tilting her head to the side ever so slightly.

‘Um, about two days.’

She laughed at that.

‘He’s staying with me for a while,’ Gwen told her, before protesting, ‘and we knew each other for longer than that.’

Merlin felt his odd shyness ebbing away, and he raised his eyebrow jokingly. ‘As friendly strangers, though. I didn’t know her name until yesterday.’

‘Oh, true? See, darling Gwen just wants me to think her to be respectable, when she’s obviously a complete scandal. Aren’t you, Gwen? Utterly raucous. And I thought I knew you.’ She smirked at Gwen.

Once they had all settled into the cozy armchairs, Merlin and Gwen finished their pasta while Morgana told them about the ordeal she had just escaped.

‘It was all so mind-numbingly sombre, and I was just there for the first fifteen minutes. All those grey men in grey suits. Arthur was the only one there under thirty, and he barely counts because he’s as grey at heart as any of them. I can’t believe we used to think they’d be fun, Gwen, or even glamorous. They just drone on and on about security and crime rates, and their small talk is _horrendous_. I’ve never heard anyone talk so extensively about the available range of security cameras.’ Morgana paused for breath.

‘Why were you there?’ Merlin asked, his curiosity caught.

‘My father runs Pendragon Security. He thinks it’s good for me to go to events like this, to understand what he does for the city. Most likely wants a pretty face there too, to charm his doddery old guests and partners. Actually, he probably hopes I’ll end up going into the business with Arthur, but I really doubt I’ll follow in his footsteps.’

‘Understandable,’ Gwen said sympathetically.

‘Why not?’ Merlin asked. His heart was beating fast; hopefully his voice sounded calm to their ears.  

Morgana gave him a considered look. ‘I don’t agree with his ideas, or the company’s practises.’

‘What practises don’t you agree with?’

‘You’re full of questions, aren’t you? And here I was thinking I had already left the meeting.’ Morgana retorted.

‘I’m just curious. I don’t know much about the city.’

‘Right.’ She sounded suspicious. ‘Why not?’

‘Well . . . I’m not from here. It’s all a bit alien.’ This was it. This was when the deception truly began. Merlin looked at Gwen for a split second; she hadn’t heard his story yet either. No one had, not since he had practised it with Nimueh.

‘You’re not from Camelot?’ Gwen looked at him in surprise.

‘No –’ he began, when Morgana interrupted.

‘Where are you from, then?’

‘A place called Ealdor. It’s in the countryside, by the border. Little town.’

‘Never heard of it.’

Gwen looked concerned. ‘Why were you living on the streets here then? If you had a home somewhere else?’

‘Oh, well –’ he said, when Morgana interrupted again.

‘You lived on the streets?!’ she exclaimed. Then she turned to Gwen. ‘And you took him in?!’

Morgana was obviously unaccustomed to being kept in the dark, Merlin thought.

 ‘Yes, I did. I took him in. And don’t looked so shocked, Morgana. Merlin’s perfectly nice. Aren’t you, Merlin?’

‘I’d hope so?’ he said.

‘Yes. See?’ said Gwen.

‘I’ve never met a homeless person before,’ Morgana said, all of a sudden.

Gwen groaned. ‘Morgana!’

‘What? I haven’t! We don’t have many at all in Camelot.’ She leaned towards Merlin, her chin resting in her hand, looking directly into his eyes. ‘And now I’m curious. Like Gwen asked, why did you come here?’

He leaned back in his chair, more than a little bit amused, his lie coherent in his mind.

‘Long story short – I wanted to get away. Ealdor – it was stifling. I just didn’t fit in there. I wanted . . . I think I wanted to do something with my life. It just, well, just didn’t turn out so great. As you can probably tell. I think I was a bit naïve about how difficult it is to start a new life from scratch.’

‘Why didn’t you go back?’ Gwen asked.

‘I was going to give myself a year. It’s only been a few months now.’ At least he could be honest about his life while in Camelot. Except for the stealing and the magic. He fancied keeping those quiet.

‘You do know Camelot has support for the destitute, right?’ Morgana said. ‘There’s a reason we have so few homeless people.’

That was a shock. ‘I – I didn’t know that. No.’

He frowned. All those weeks, hungry and cold. All that time, gone. He took a deep breath, trying to disperse his frustration at this newfound knowledge, to disperse what was fast becoming anger – anger at himself, and his ignorance of this unfamiliar world. God. Of course they had bloody ‘support for the homeless.’ They had everything. They had more food than anybody could eat, and machines that did all their work for them, and warm homes – properly built homes, at that – and new clothes and everything anyone could possibly need. And everyone was _fucking looked after._

He had to close his eyes to try to calm himself down, but he just kept seeing his mother, sewing their threadbare clothes together for the hundredth time, and seeing Freya as she was when they found her, so thin and frail and close to death, and seeing Will’s face on that day all those years ago after his parents were killed in front of him. Seeing all the people he knew, people he loved, who had been so entirely abandoned to a life tainted with misery, with no means of escape.

‘Merlin? Are you alright?’ Gwen’s voice was soft, cautious.

He looked up at her, and knew the pain was showing in his expression. He didn’t care.

But then he did.

Gwen was kind. Gwen was innocent. Gwen had no idea of the sort of world that existed behind the wall. She didn’t deserve his anger.

And she couldn’t know what his anger was for, not if he wanted to succeed in helping the people he loved. He had to become who they wanted him to be. He had to become Merlin of Ealdor. So he answered her; any anger, any bite, any hatred dispelled from his words.

‘No. Not really. But I will be, don’t worry. It was just a shock.’ He attempted a weak smile, even as he knew it wouldn’t convince her.

‘Okay. But, you know, Merlin, I’m going to make sure you _are_ alright. I promise. You have a home here, if you want it.’

‘Thank you, Gwen. I . . . I would love that more than anything.’

She beamed at him.

‘Trust me, Merlin,’ Morgana said. ‘When Gwen promises something, there’s no way of stopping her. She’s ruthless. She’ll make sure you’re alright, even if it kills you.’ She smirked at Gwen, who made an indignant noise, shaking her head. Morgana continued, ‘Anyhow, I would rather like to barge my way into this situation myself, Merlin. I always fancy a challenge, you know. With my connections, I could tug a few strings, set you up for proper life in Camelot– I’m sure you’ll get along quite nicely by the time we’re done with you.’

He smiled at them both, a picture of gratefulness. But in his mind – now that he’d controlled the startling burst of anger, now that he had heard Morgana’s offer of aid, now that his head was clear again – there was only one thought going round and round, like Morgana’s voice was stuck on repeat: _My father runs Pendragon Security. My father runs Pendragon Security. My father runs Pendragon Security._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have run out of pre-written stuff to post now . . . but now that it's all up it will force me to write more rather than just editing the same stuff over and over again haha. Anyway -- hope you enjoyed reading this so far!! It's quite exciting to share it !!!


	6. Chapter 6

Merlin and Gwen went out to the road, where Morgana was parked. Her car was shiny black and she sat inside with the window rolled down, a large pair of sunglasses obscuring most of her face. She leaned out with a gleaming smile. 

‘Morning, darlings. Excited?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Gwen grinned back at her friend before getting into the car.

Their shared smiles (just a bit too sinister) left him wondering why exactly he had agreed to this.

The inside of the car smelt of new leather and it was impeccably clean – the glass sparkled and the seats shone. He knew if he had one of these machines to call his own, there was no way it could stay in this state for long at all. Everything was immaculate and, of course, Morgana was right at home. Sliding in next to Gwen, its warmer air cocooned and shielded him from the bitter wind. As they drove into the centre of the city, leaving the vast neighbourhood of vast houses behind them, Morgana and Gwen chatted amiably while Merlin watched the road, the side of his face a millimetre from the glass – but not touching, of course. That would leave a mark.

It was blustery and drizzly on the streets; people darted for shelter while clutching raincoat hoods that threatened to fly back, and struggled with wind-mangled umbrellas. Once Morgana had parked (Merlin watched her work the pay-machine with great interest), they plunged into the outside world.

‘Oh my god!’ Gwen shrieked, as the first gust hit – bringing with it a spattering of freezing raindrops. Morgana burst into wild laughter, and clutched at Gwen’s arm. Their hair tangled and streamed in the wind, and they leaned against each other as they walked. Merlin watched from behind, amused, his own mop of hair getting in his eyes. He was happy to keep his place there at the back, still feeling very much the stranger. But it wasn’t long until they turned around and pulled him into their mad tangle, and he was leaning against them too, and laughing with his heart, and everything was close and loud and overflowing with rawness; the kind of spirit that only shows up when it’s caught up in the realness of everything. They were still laughing as they fell, limbs and all, onto the front door of a shop. Morgana was the first to gather her composure, and she led the way in.

Late last night when Morgana had been getting up to leave, she had seen Merlin with new eyes – eyes that recognised Gwen’s brother’s oversized clothes hanging off Merlin’s frame, eyes which then widened with the excitement of a new idea (an idea which terrified Merlin to pieces), an idea that very quickly came to fruition once Gwen got in on it. He couldn’t sway them. So there they were: Morgana and Gwen buzzing with excitement, and Merlin feeling more than slightly concerned.

He didn’t really know what to do, so he hovered as they scoured the shelves and racks of clothes, occasionally standing still as they held things up against him. They were murmuring things like ‘Oh, that goes with his eyes,’ and, ‘Surely this one!’ and ‘Do we want to go with that look, though? I don’t feel like it’s _him._ He’s not got that comfy look – it needs to be more grunge or, sort of, wild, you know?’ At one point, a shop attendant came over, promptly giving Gwen and Morgana both a big hug.

‘I think we might need your help,’ Gwen said.

The attendant looked at them curiously for a moment, before saying, ‘Rightio – can do! Mind introducing me to your friend?’

‘This is Merlin,’ Morgana said, gesturing to him. ‘Merlin, this is Elena, a dear friend of ours.’

‘We’re giving him a makeover,’ Gwen added.

Elena laughed. ‘Brilliant! And nice to meet you, Merlin.’

‘You too,’ he said.

He shook her hand. She had a strong handshake, and bright eyes.

Elena returned her attention to Gwen and Morgana: ‘What’ve you got so far, then?’

And chaos resumed.

By the end of it, Merlin had tried on more clothes than he’d ever seen in his life. He liked the oversized jumpers, which he could sink into quite happily. And he liked the coat, which draped down from his shoulders, almost cape-like in the way it fell – cutting off above his knees. But he’d never felt so plucked and preened in his life. And he couldn’t help but notice that there was no midway between uncomfortably stiff and uselessly soft with these clothes. He was used to clothes that let you be – sturdy and rough, worn-in and thinning around the joints. In these new things, that felt, smelt and radiated _Camelot_ , he wasn’t quite himself. They were cumbersome and distracting, constantly reminding him of who he was and who he wasn’t. If Will saw him now, he was certain he’d never hear the end of it.

To imitate them was to understand them, he thought. Now, he looked the part. He blended in.  But to understand them was to become them.  And that was the danger.  

*

On the other side of town, in the outskirts of Camelot, where up-market shops dwindled away and storage warehouses multiplied, Arthur waited. He was leaning against his car, arms crossed, fully appreciating the cinematic quality to his stance, with his hair windswept and suit crisp and dark. The grungy building didn’t quite set the scene, though, and neither did the job – even if he looked like he could be some sort of spy. Waiting indeterminately for something _very important_ and _unspecified._ Anyone who saw him would definitely be wondering why he was there, would definitely be watching and curious. No matter that he was just waiting for Leon, who had been held up by traffic again. No matter that this was the _least_ interesting job he’d never wished for. No matter that there was no one around in this part of town who’d have an eye for the cinematic and dramatic anyway. It was the industrial sector, near where the city became countryside, run through by motorways and oversized buildings. And this was Day Ninety-Five of his father’s new security programme, which was full of holes and lazy clients and endless trips to warehouse-based companies he had never heard of before this dark, dark time in his life. The early days, when the robberies first happened, had been fresh and exciting. There was an air of determination everywhere, as they undertook so many more investigations than usual, and set up countless precautions and traps. There had been functions and dances and presentations with no expenses spared: Pendragon Security’s latest innovation, in the works and ready for all. High-end businesses jumped on board, Uther’s speeches roused spirits and the anti-magic cause, profits soared and yet . . . here he was, at Day Ninety-Five, thoroughly bored. No more robberies. Endless meetings and check-ups on clients. And no thief. Not even a whisper of one.

Leon’s car pulled up behind his. Arthur let him walk over, and stayed leaning against his car.

‘Morning,’ Leon said. ‘Sorry about the wait, again. Bloody traffic.’ He set his briefcase down on top of Arthur’s car, ruffling inside it to find the necessary papers. ‘Here’s the one, Colbert and Co., had it installed, uh, three weeks ago.’

Leon handed the paper to Arthur, who scanned it without really reading it. ‘Right then. Standard installation check-up it is.’

‘Who would’ve guessed, eh?’ Leon said under his breath. He closed the briefcase.

Arthur straightened his suit. ‘It has to be getting to the last of them, surely. Have you seen this place? I doubt anyone would even shop here, let alone steal.’

They walked into the warehouse, full of storage crates and a bad smell, and met the owner. They talked over installation procedure and terms of use, clarified any “unclear” instructions: (‘Yes, Mr. Colbert, as an electrical security system, you must leave it connected to electricity at all times . . . no, at _all_ times’) and answered any queries he might possibly have.

They then checked the vitality of the system. Leon removed a heavy metal capsule from his briefcase.

‘This, Mr. Colbert, is cold iron. It’s what makes up the Wall and it deadens magic of all kinds, as I’m sure you know, sir. And in here, I’ve got a legitimate magical weapon. While it’s in this iron case, though, it won’t set off the alarms. But when I take it out, if the system is working correctly, it will detect the magical item and we’ll see very nicely if your system is all set to go.’

‘Real magic, you say? Is that dangerous?’ Colbert asked.

‘Don’t worry, we’re highly trained,’ Arthur reassured him. ‘Pendragon Security would never permit anything that was not entirely safe. My father is Uther Pendragon himself, and let me assure you, he is scrupulous in his methods.’

While Arthur watched the monitor, Leon entered a code into the side of the capsule, and then prised it open. He was wearing thick leather gloves as he lifted the magical item out from the iron – a pale, dirty gold spiral, broken off at one end. As soon as it was brought out, sirens began to wail, lights on the monitor began to flash, and a signal was sent directly to the headquarters of Pendragon Security.

Leon shut the relic back in its case, and Arthur deftly shut the system down, sending a follow-up message to whoever was on duty back at base: _OPERATION 198: TRIAL OVER._

‘Well, Mr. Colbert,’ Leon said, ‘it looks like it is working just right.’

The shopkeeper nodded, but frowned. ‘Yes, but what’s to stop any old sorcerer coming in here with some of that metal, to stop my alarm, and then casting hexes and curses at me without the machine noticing it?’

‘Ah, that wouldn’t be possible, thankfully. They can’t touch this stuff, so there’s no worry about that at all.’ Leon smiled at the man. ‘Any strong magical item on their person, or even the smallest of curses, will set off the alarm and there’s no way they can stop it. We’ll be alerted immediately and set right off to help and apprehend the sorcerer.’

‘This is the latest tech, sir, and you can rely on it. If you want to secure your warehouse more, though, I’d recommend visiting Aredian’s. He’s always worked closely with Pendragon Security, and stocks many smaller-scale defences against sorcery. Some of his stuff is technologically advanced like ours, but he also sells some of the more traditional ones, and they’ll work well with our system. They’ll only strengthen your guard.’ Arthur recited the spiel mindlessly, but paid attention to the tone of his voice – ever the charismatic, willing representative of his father’s company.

Leon picked up for Arthur. ‘Last I heard he was selling cold iron wind chimes – pretty neat, though pricey because the iron’s not all that common. You’ll be able to find all sorts there, though.’

Mr. Colbert soaked up their slick routine. ‘Well, I’ll take a look at his shop then, I will. I am very happy with my new system though, very happy indeed. Thank you lads, real blessing to this city you are.’

Arthur breathed deeply once he was out into the open air.

‘Good God,’ Leon said. ‘It’s only 10am.’

*

The rest of the day featured many Incidents nearly identical to that which took place in Mr. Colbert’s warehouse.

They walked out of their last client’s home, into the welcome embrace of Friday dusk.

Arthur gestured for the briefcase. ‘I’ll take that. You go on ahead to the house, and I’ll meet you there later. No sense in us both going in.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yep.’

‘Well, I won’t argue,’ Leon said, giving the case over. ‘See you later.’ He gave Arthur a cheery wave and got into his car.

Arthur tossed the briefcase onto the passenger seat, and then stretched. With luck, his father wouldn’t be in the office. He didn’t know if he could face him after another Day From Hell.

He drove along the darkening streets thinking of nothing in particular. There wasn’t much to captivate his thoughts at the moment, nothing that stimulated his days, no new stories for nights out, nothing at all to make him feel useful or purposeful. Leon endured the dull work with him, but he sprung back from it with ease. He hadn’t been raised by Uther, after all, who pushed and pushed for perfection and progress and constant growth. No rest. No slacking. No half-heartedness. Absolutely nothing that Uther had instilled into him since childhood was necessary for the work he had to do. And he felt pointless because of it. It wasn’t that he didn’t think the work was unimportant; Arthur knew that it was essential to the safety of the city. But he’d grown up dreaming of this time in his life, when he finally had a proper, senior job in his father’s company. So many people still did dream of having a job like his. Something glamourous, dangerous, respectable. And in some ways it was all those things: he was heir to the most successful company in Camelot; he handled actual, legitimate magical items; he worked with the most incredible team of people all committed to the same cause, unity you didn’t get in most other jobs; he even got to look cinematic leaning against his car in the mornings. Though Leon was probably the only one who saw him looking like that.

But it was all such a pretence. Here he was, eradicating magic, without any clue as to what magic was really like. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. They did have the official documents, of course, which he’d studied in his exams leading up to his promotion. But then they were all based on confessions from sorcerers, and old wives’ tales. There were the movies too, but they were hardly realistic. What he really, truly craved was practical experience.

Practical experience which he was _never_ going to get. Uther had done his work too well.

Once parked, Arthur moved on auto-pilot, taking the elevator up to level 17.

The office was dark and deserted. He went to his desk and sorted the paperwork absently, and then put the briefcase (iron capsule safe within) in his locker.

As he pulled on the locker door to make sure it was properly locked, he heard footsteps behind him.

‘Arthur.’

He turned. ‘Evening, father.’

‘I trust you had a successful day?’

‘Yes, it all went very well. The system is working fine, as usual. I was just bringing the paperwork back now.’ Arthur stood straight and kept his face a neutral, respectful mask. ‘The clients were all very complimentary.’

‘Good. That’s very good to hear.’

The two men stood facing each other, both equally obstinate. Then Arthur’s thoughts boiled over.  

‘Father, I . . .’ Speaking without thinking was a bad habit of his. He needed to work on that.  

‘Yes?’ Uther eyed him sharply.

‘I was just . . . I’m finding the work a bit, well, directionless.’ He wished he’d just bit his tongue instead of speak.

‘Directionless? Do you not comprehend how vital this work is for Camelot?’ Uther’s voice was stark.

‘No, no! I completely understand its importance, father. I think what I’m trying to say is that I’m . . . struggling,’ it was a blow to admit weakness in front of Uther, ‘mostly because it feels like there have been no good results yet. I feel like I’m letting you down.’

Uther’s gaze softened slightly. ‘I hear you, Arthur. This is good. Your concerns reveal a productive, discerning mind. Understand me, though. This is just the calm before the storm. Soon we will see tangible results. Trust me, this expanse of security will be as effective for eradicating the live ones as the cellular test was for the unborn. We will see it soon. They’ll be flushed out like rats from our sewers.’

Arthur heard the utter conviction in his father’s voice. But like most of Uther’s advice, it was the sort that left him more uncertain than he was before. This time, because he was feeling more and more the vast distance between them. Because it was becoming more and more impossible to speak his mind. Because he didn’t feel like the man his father seemed to think he was.

 ‘I trust you, father. I look forward to that day.’ He managed to leave his thoughts unsaid this time.

‘You are invaluable, Arthur.’ Uther held his hand to the side, gesturing for Arthur to leave.

‘Thank you, father. Good night.’


	7. Chapter 7

‘Hurry up now, you slow poke! We’re leaving!’ Morgana called, laughter in her voice.

Merlin was anxious. He pulled one of the new jumpers over his head, and tentatively walked out to meet the girls. Friday-night-get-together, they’d said. Everyone will be there, they’d said. They’ll love to meet you. You’ll fit right in. You have to come.

God. He was more than a bit terrified. Three days here, and he was well and truly falling headfirst into this new life.

Rather than walking back out to the street like he expected, Morgana and Gwen led him round the back of Gwen’s house to the much larger, grander home next door, linked by a gate that opened on to an expansive garden.

They walked through the garden. Hedges were trimmed neatly, garden beds showed fledgling bulbs poking through dark soil, daisies sprawled across the grass too wet to mow. Their route was paved. There was an archway intertwined with a vine, which dangled from the white-painted wickerwork. As Merlin ducked under, it brushed his shoulder, speckling his jumper with water. He paused to touch it, as well as the small buds preparing to open. They were a translucent white brushed with pink, and felt like silk.

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

Gwen was watching him. Late sunrays fell across her face, turning her skin gold.

Morgana had disappeared inside the house (if it could be called that, being such a daunting, ridiculously-sized thing), leaving them alone. 

‘Yeah, it is’ Merlin said. ‘Is this really her home? Actually, don’t answer that. I can entirely believe this is where she lives.’

Gwen laughed. ‘The house is like Morgana – less intimidating once you get to know it. I was just as much in awe when I saw it for the first time. And it took me a while to get used to it.’

Merlin laughed, then asked: ‘How long have you lived here?’

‘About five years now. I moved in when I was seventeen. Morgana convinced her father that I’d be a perfect tenant, and managed to get me and Elyan a good rent, and basically helped me every step of the way. It was . . . a tough time. I’ll always be thankful to her.’ She smiled at him, then cocked her head in the direction of the house. ‘I’ll tell you more about it later. It’s a bit of a long story, and I don’t want to get into it now. But I do want you to meet everyone else. So come on! And don’t look so worried, everyone’ll love you, okay? Morgana’s the scariest person there, I swear.’

Gwen linked her arm with his, and he felt himself walking towards the big glass doors.

There was a small crowd inside. His eyes scanned the room: Morgana was on the far side, greeting a man with faintly ginger hair who had just entered from the front of the house; the shop-assistant Elena was laughing with three burly men, all sprawled out on the couch, identical bottles of beer in their hands; two girls, one blonde and one brunette, were leaning in and talking into each other’s ears as they watched Morgana and the new arrival. No one had seen him and Gwen yet. Merlin was quite content to leave it like that for a bit longer, but then Gwen flew past him in a dash towards the group on the couch.

‘Elyan!’

Everyone turned at her voice. One of the men on the couch stood up, grinning, holding his arms out to Gwen. She threw her arms around his neck, and he spun her around.

‘I can’t believe you’re here!’ she said, once she was back on her own two feet, grinning exuberantly. Then she hit his arm lightly. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were back?!’ 

‘I came straight here with Percy and Gwaine. Didn’t have a chance to, I swear!’ Elyan said.

Gwen tutted. ‘Oh well. You’re here! I’ve missed you, you slacker.’

‘Me too, sis,’ he said fondly.

‘Wait until you find out she’s replaced you,’ Morgana said, a glint in her eyes.

‘Huh? Replaced me?’ He looked questioningly at Gwen. ‘What’s this?’

‘No! I . . . that’s not true!’ Gwen protested.

 ‘It definitely is,’ Morgana said, walking over to them. ‘I’ve seen the evidence with my own eyes.’

‘Morgana! She’s exaggerating!’

‘Does that mean it’s kind of true?’ Elyan asked.

Gwen had gone pink. ‘I . . . well . . . it might be a maybe a little bit true.’ She sent a withering look in Morgana’s direction. ‘Sorry?’

Elyan laughed at his sister’s exasperation, and then the dark haired man on the couch spoke up. ‘Has this, perhaps, got anything to do with the mysterious stranger hovering at our threshold?’

And then everyone was looking at Merlin. ‘Maybe a bit,’ he said. He looked at Elyan. ‘Sorry about that.’

Elyan was still laughing to himself. ‘Can you clarify how exactly have you replaced me? I’m more than a bit confused.’

Gwen butted in before Merlin could speak. ‘He’s taken your room. But that’s not important.’

‘It isn’t?’ Elyan asked, but Gwen ignored him.

‘Everyone, this is Merlin. Merlin, this is my brother Elyan. And this is Gwaine, Percy, Elena – though you know her – Leon, Mithian and Viv. Everyone, be nice.’

Merlin gave a small wave when Gwen said his name.

Gwen then turned back to Elyan, saying: ‘Okay, let me explain it to you properly without Morgana twisting the tale to wring as much drama out of it as she can.’ She directed her brother to some seats on the opposite side of the room from Morgana, to have a more private discussion with him.  

Merlin looked around the room, wide-eyed, trying to remember which name went with which face. The two girls (Mith-something and Viv?) had returned to their giggling and gossiping. Morgana was talking to the ginger man again (Liam?) and Elena, and the dark haired man (Percy? Gwaine?) who had pointed him out was beckoning Merlin over to the couch.

‘Want a beer?’ the man asked, holding out a bottle. 

‘Thanks.’ Merlin took it and drank a mouthful. ‘Sorry, was it Percy?’

The man grinned good-naturedly, shaking his head. ‘I’m Gwaine. This here is Percy.’ He gestured to the man seated next to him, who was extremely muscular. ‘We welcome you to this humble abode. And we were just saying how good it is to see a new face here, because to tell the complete and utter truth it was getting a little, well, dull. Would you say that, Percy?’

Percy nodded. ‘Too long since any action.’

‘We knew, what with Elyan coming back and all, that there were going to be plenty of uncertainties as to Gwen’s reaction, because she’s always fussing about him and wondering when he’ll be back and all that. That’s why we suggested he come straight here. Good old surprise tactics. But, let’s face it, any reaction on that basis would be meagre at best. But you, mysterious stranger, brought conflict into our midst.’ Gwaine raised his eyebrows in a pretence of shock. ‘So that’s why we have to thank you.’

‘Yep,’ Percy added. ‘We appreciate it.’

‘Job well done,’ Gwaine said.

Merlin looked at the both of them, dumbfounded. ‘Uh . . . thanks?’

‘So tell us. How is it you came to take Elyan’s own room?’ Percy asked. ‘We’re very curious.’

‘I bet you seduced Gwen,’ Gwaine said. His grin seemed to gleam up close, Merlin thought.

‘Sorry to disappoint, but we’re just friends,’ Merlin said.

‘Aw, really?’

‘Definitely.’ Merlin laughed incredulously. ‘Morgana seemed to think otherwise as well. I don’t know why it’s such a popular assumption.’

‘Maybe people just like to believe in love,’ Percy suggested.

Gwaine shoved him, laughing. ‘You sop. Ignore him, Merlin. I wouldn’t mind hearing the real story though.’

‘Well, it’s a bit of a long one,’ Merlin said, hesitant to go into the details again.

‘No problem with us.’

‘Oh, I dunno-’

‘Tell!’

Gwaine didn’t look like he was going to give in any time soon, and neither did Percy – even if he was less vocal about it. Merlin decided to go for it, and do it properly. ‘Well, okay. I guess it starts with Gwen. She wouldn’t want me to say this, but she’s actually a reckless Good Samaritan.’

‘Oh?’ Percy and Gwaine leaned in, intrigued. Merlin took another swig from the bottle, and leaned in too, embracing the dramatic spirit of the retelling.

‘We’ve only known each other since Wednesday. I met her in the park, when it was just beginning to rain, one of those big spring storms, you know? I was getting a bit wet, because, well, I didn’t really have much of a place to go. And Gwen saw me, she came over with her umbrella, and made what I would call a _very_ reckless decision. Which, of course, I’m also very thankful for. But basically, long story short, in one big swoop she took me in off the streets, invited me into her home – a complete stranger, mind you – and replaced her brother . . . though that’s news to me.’

‘No way. . .’ Percy said, disbelieving.  

Gwaine threw his head back and laughed heartily.

‘ _Gwen_ did this?!’ Percy asked, glancing over his shoulder at the lady herself, incredulous yet impressed. When Merlin affirmed he muttered, ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘Percival!’ Gwaine exclaimed. ‘This is no time for doubt. This is a miracle!’

Merlin was watching as Gwaine rejoiced in this new insight into Gwen’s character, but he also saw the moment when understanding flickered in his eyes, sobering them slightly.

‘You were homeless?’ Gwaine asked, just as brusquely as Morgana had.

‘I was. Not the best time, I’m afraid.’

‘Huh. It’s not very common, you know,’ Gwaine said.

‘Yeah, I know.’ Merlin felt a flicker of anger, echoing his fury from the last time this subject had been breached. This time, however, he controlled it. No revealing emotion crossed his face.

‘Well then. I think you deserve a stronger drink, don’t you? Wouldn’t mind one myself.’

Gwaine and Percy showed him to a room down the hall: a gleaming, spacious kitchen.

‘This is their _spare_ kitchen,’ Gwaine told him. ‘Can you believe it? Everything in this wing is spare. Uther cordoned it off for Morgana and Arthur so they could be young and rich and all that without bothering him. They could live down here if they wanted. God, a dozen people could live down here without being cramped. There’s enough bedrooms, even. The part I’m most fond of, though, is the fully stocked bar.’ As he said that, he opened a cupboard with flair, revealing an extensive number of bottles. He rummaged for a while, before taking away some whisky. ‘Ah, now that’s it.’

‘Who’s Arthur?’ Merlin asked.

‘Morgana’s brother,’ Gwaine said, spinning around to face him at the same time. The movement made his long hair fly into his eyes. ‘He’s as posh, but with less of her terrifying charm and more of an inflated sense of his own importance. Good bloke, though, once you get to know him. He’s supposed to be here now, but probably has more important things to be doing.’

Percy had laid out three glasses, so clean they sparkled. Gwaine poured liberally.

‘Cheers to you both,’ he said, nodding at Merlin and Percy. ‘And cheers to Gwen’s beautiful, reckless spirit. What a girl.’

Their glasses clinked, and Merlin drank deeply.

*

Arthur didn’t want to go straight there. Seeing Uther had made him feel _off_. There was no other word for it.

Yet, he knew it wasn’t just Uther. His whole week had left him drained and hopeless. But he wasn’t going to let himself think about the other things, not anymore, and Uther was the easiest issue to focus on instead.

He drove for a while, watching streetlights and headlights and traffic lights flash and gleam. Every so often his ring would glint for a moment, before becoming a shadow on his thumb again. He tried to figure out what sort of light made the metal shine, from what angle, with what speed. He couldn’t figure it out. He drove west, and ended up as far west as he could go using these inner city streets, which just so happened to be the wall. He parked and got out.

He hadn’t been here in years. Not since he was a teenager, and Uther had insisted that he and a very sulky Morgana take a tour around the wall and the main security post. He could see that same watch tower, with its beaming lights, far in the distance. And by craning his neck, he was just able to discern the coils of barbed wire atop the wall as they shifted in the soft breeze. He listened. There was the soft hum of electricity, audible over the endless murmur of the city. He could hear a siren wailing somewhere in the distance. From across the border, though, there was only silence, like the wall radiated it. Like it obstructed all signs of life. He wondered if there was someone on the other side, mirroring his stance, listening as intently, feeling the same chill in the air.

A gust of wind blew his hair across his forehead, and his coat flapped in the wind. He tried to hear something, anything, from that place. Nothing.

He was chilled.

Arthur Pendragon got back into his car and drove away, trying to forget that he’d stopped there at all.

*

There was a circle of them, now, on the kitchen floor. Merlin was between the snooty blonde girl, Vivian, and Gwaine. A rather giggly game of ‘never have I ever’ was underway (Merlin had been met by shocked gasps when he said he didn’t know the rules, having never played it, and assertions that they _must_ play it now, if only for his sake). Morgana and Leon were watching but not playing, having come in later (and, Merlin thought, because they considered themselves quite above it), but otherwise everyone had joined in.

Merlin’s lips were numb from the whisky and he felt contentedly warm.

‘Never have I ever had sex in public,’ Mithian said, a smug smile on her lips as she eyed Gwaine.

‘God damn,’ he muttered, taking a drink. So did Elena and Elyan (to Gwen’s shock).

‘Never have I ever thought about sleeping with someone in this room,’ Elyan said, grinning.

‘Aw, fuck that!’

‘You liar!’

Everyone drank, except for Merlin, who’d hardly had the time to consider that yet.

‘Your turn, Gwen.’

‘Oh God, I’m so bad at thinking of these . . .’ She paused for a while, thinking.

‘Come on, be a little more . . . _reckless_ ,’ Gwaine teased. Percival snorted, then choked on his drink. Merlin grinned, looking to see if Gwen would pick up on the joke.

‘Huh? Gwen asked. Then understanding dawned. ‘Oh . . . real funny.’ She mouthed _traitor_ at Merlin.

‘Come on!’ Elena complained.

‘Okay. I’ve got one now. Never have I ever stolen something,’ Gwen said, eyes bright.

Vivian went slightly pink. ‘You’re all so . . . law-abiding,’ she said defensively, and drank from her glass.

‘That’s because we’re all perfect, ideal Camelot citizens,’ Mithian teased.

Merlin considered his options momentarily before he also drank. Theft wasn’t explicitly tied to magic in this world, he had to remember. This wouldn’t give him away; it would only make him seem more truthful.

‘Looks like you’re not alone, then, Viv,’ Elyan said.

Gwen went red then too, and mouthed _sorry_ to Merlin, clearly mentally chastising herself for tactlessness. She looked distraught.

Vivian looked down her nose at Merlin. ‘I hardly believe my stealing is anything compared to his.’

‘Oh, yes, tell me again what law it was that sanctioned _your_ type of theft?’ Morgana asked, characteristic smirk and piercing gaze in place.

‘That’s not what I meant. I did it like . . . twice, and it was years and years ago. I bet he did much more –’

‘Ah, Viv, you’re digging yourself into a nice, deep hole,’ Mithian said.

‘Lucky I’ve got such sticky fingers,’ Merlin joked. ‘I might just be able to pull you back out.’

Gwaine snorted, breaking the slight tension, and then picked up the loose ends of the game.

They were immersed in the final few rounds (Merlin was really hoping he wouldn’t have to stand up, because he was quite certain that he might wobble a bit too noticeably at this point), when they heard noises from the other room over the music.

‘Hello?’ a voice called.

‘In here!’ Leon shouted back.

As the footsteps neared, Merlin swivelled, a little dizzily, to face the door.

Earlier in the evening, he had tried his best to blend in and keep quiet, preferring to keep more of a low profile amongst all of these strangers. He had, at first. But at that exact moment he was feeling relaxed and happy, his tongue was substantially loosened by alcohol, and when he saw the very last person he was expecting to see, he couldn’t help the fretful leap his heart made in his chest, or the very audible words that fell from his lips.

‘What the fuck.’

There he was. The man from the alleyway, the coat-snob, the man with golden hair and a chiselled jaw. In the flesh. Standing right there in front of him.

‘You!’ the man said. ‘Again!’

‘What the fuck?’ Merlin repeated, his brain trying to catch up.

‘What are you doing here?’ the man demanded.

‘What are _you_ doing here?’ Merlin echoed, equally demanding.

‘I live here!’

‘What the _fuck!’_ Merlin decided then he was too drunk to deal with this, and swivelled himself back around, hoping that the man would just vanish. He admired the bewildered expressions of everyone sitting around him.

 ‘You never told me you knew Arthur,’ Morgana accused Merlin.

‘I don’t,’ Merlin said, even as he recognised the name from Gwaine’s earlier description.

‘We don’t know each other,’ Arthur said at the same time.

Gwaine laughed, albeit uncertainly. ‘You know, I’m really getting the impression that you do know each other. Just a tad. Or am I the only one getting that impression? Please tell me I’m not the only one.’

‘You’re not the only one,’ Gwen said. The others hummed in agreement.

‘You two definitely know each other,’ Morgana said. ‘Please save your dignity, Arthur, and admit it.’

‘What about _his_ dignity?’ Arthur retorted, firing a glare at Merlin.

‘He, like most people in this room, has already consumed copious amounts of alcohol and thus does not need to worry about such things like dignity,’ Morgana replied, articulate as ever.

‘Well, I don’t know him!’ Arthur protested.

‘Clearly you do,’ Morgana said.

‘I don’t even know his name!’

‘You don’t know his name?’ Gwaine asked.

‘No!’ Arthur shouted, exasperated.

‘I know his name,’ Merlin said, keeping his back to the man.

‘So you do know each other?’ Gwen asked.

‘Yes,’ Merlin said.

‘No!’ Arthur said, at the same time.

‘He’s Arthur,’ Merlin said.

‘Wait . . . How does _he_ know my name?’ Arthur asked. Merlin could hear the incredulity in his voice.

‘They told me it.’ Merlin gestured vaguely towards the group of people.

Arthur was silent for a moment. ‘Well, I don’t know his. And I don’t know him. Not at-’

‘Don’t be so obstinate, Arthur,’ Morgana interrupted.

‘We met in an alleyway,’ Merlin said, thinking this was the optimum time to include such information.

‘What were you doing in an alleyway?’ Vivian asked, gazing curiously at Arthur.

‘I don’t know,’ Arthur said.

‘So do you admit that you know him?’ Morgana said.  

‘I’ll admit that I met him.’

‘That’s true,’ Merlin agreed. ‘We met. Twice.’

‘Twice?’ Gwen asked.

‘Yes, twice,’ Arthur confirmed.

Merlin swivelled back around to face the man. Arthur.

‘I still don’t know your name,’ Arthur said to him. His tone softened, though it was still mostly petulant.

‘I’m Merlin.’ He got to his feet – albeit clumsily – and held out a hand.

Arthur stared at it for a moment, then shook it. He had a firm grip. Merlin looked directly into the man’s clear, light eyes and felt a wave of guilt.

‘I think I owe you some money,’ he said. And regretted it instantly.

‘What?’ Arthur asked, his eyes darkening. The room went deathly silent. 

Merlin wished he could disappear. ‘I didn't spend any. I’ll give it all back.’

‘I never gave you any money.’ Arthur spoke slowly, threateningly.

‘I know. Sorry.’

Merlin heard Gwaine mumble ‘shit,’ somewhere in the background.

‘Theft . . . theft is a major crime. It is not tolerated in Camelot,’ Arthur said. ‘Surely you know that?’

‘I, uh- ’

‘Leave him be, Arthur,’ Morgana said, getting up off the floor and coming to stand by Merlin. She brought a wave of soft, sweet fragrance with her, and he could hear her the chain on her necklace clinking, as well as the catlike sound of her bare feet on the tiles. Merlin could feel his own pulse, too. The sudden focus on such minute details and sensations left him with an uneasy feeling in his stomach, and he realised he had just made a major mistake.

‘Do you know who I am?’ Arthur asked Merlin, speaking loud and ignoring Morgana. He didn’t let Merlin reply. ‘I run Pendragon Security’s field operations. I am in charge of ensuring that this city is kept safe and lawful, and that Camelot’s citizens are protected. In my book, you are a threat.’ He paused, looking at the room of concerned faces. Merlin stayed still and silent. ‘I’m afraid you’re under arrest.’

‘Arthur!’ Morgana exclaimed. ‘You can’t!’ Her shock was echoed throughout the room.

‘Actually, Morgana, I can,’ Arthur said.

Gwen stood straight up, tipping over some glasses in the rapid movement. ‘Wait! You don’t understand!’

‘What the hell, Arthur,’ Gwaine said, simultaneously.

Even Leon spoke up: ‘Arthur, maybe listen –’

But Arthur ignored them all. Merlin didn’t resist as Arthur roughly gripped his arm and forced him out of the room, walking fast, down the main corridor and out through the front door. He stumbled a few times with the pace, and his head was spinning uncomfortably. Outside, Arthur’s grip tightened and another hand pushed his head down, and then all of a sudden he was in the back seat of an unfamiliar car. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving behind a thick, static silence. A momentary stillness. It was broken by the reappearance of Arthur, as he rummaged around in the front of the car. Then Merlin’s door opened again and Arthur demanded that he put his hands behind his back, and Merlin did so without complaining, and then his wrists were handcuffed, the door was slammed again, and he was left idle on the seat.

Morgana was outside, and it was her voice that was shouting at her brother, but Merlin could not concentrate on her words. She made a move towards his door. Merlin shook his head minutely, wide-eyed, because surely she should not involve herself, because he was already captured and what good would it do, because it went against all of his instincts to let her get into trouble too. She hadn’t seen him, though. Arthur barked something angrily, and Leon stepped forward and held Morgana back. Merlin watched her struggle, and guessed she was yelling muffled obscenities. He could not hear after Arthur closed his door.

Arthur drove angrily and took the corners too fast. Merlin felt sick from the motion, which affected him badly even at a normal speed. They were in an unfamiliar part of the city by the time Arthur ordered him out of the car. The same forceful grip steered him into a well-lit building.

There was a man at a desk. Merlin looked at the ground.

‘Hi, John. Is there a free cell currently? I’ll fill out the papers once he’s in.’

Merlin found himself thrown inside a cramped cell with a slab for a bed, and a toilet – into which he was quite immediately, violently sick. Then, the sour taste left in his mouth, he collapsed on the bed. Everything smelt of urine. He tried, almost desperately, to empty his whirling mind. Yet all he could do was mentally curse himself over and over for what had just happened until, eventually, he fell asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all - here's another chapter, hope you enjoy!
> 
> Just a little warning for those who might want to avoid it - there is a brief mention of abortion in this chapter (but there isn't any description of it).

Arthur waited for John to come back from locking up the thief. He sat in one of the uncomfortable waiting-room chairs, his foot tapping up and down, his body tense with unreleased energy. He didn’t feel good.

Adrenaline and anger had blocked out his usual thoughts and feelings up until now, but in the silence of the room they started to flood back in – first the familiar waves of stress and frustration, courtesy of his father, and then this strange new glut of nervousness.

He’d made a mistake.

If he told the truth (which he wouldn’t), Arthur first realised his mistake the moment he’d stormed out the door with the thief, chased by shouts of disbelief and protest that sprung from the lips of his own friends. Of course, he’d expected objection from Morgana – when did she not complain? But disapproval from Gwen was strange; she was normally so understanding. And Leon had been so clearly uncomfortable, his face marked by a deep frown as he held Morgana back on Arthur’s orders. Arthur knew that Leon was loyal to him beyond all doubt, but usually this did not clash with his instinct for chivalry and justice. Clearly the bonds of loyalty had been too tight for comfort in this instance.

Everyone wanted to protect this man, except Arthur. But surely his judgement wasn’t that wrong . . . the man was a self-professed thief, after all. He might be dangerous, and the slightest suspicion was reason enough. That was what Uther had taught him. That was what his logic insisted.

Why, then, was his gut still writhing like a knot of snakes?

He was entirely justified. He wasn’t _supposed_ to feel guilty. The thief was only one person, and that shouldn’t be enough to bring on such uncertainty. His father had trained him better than that. The boy shouldn’t be affecting him like this.

 _Merlin,_ he thought. The boy has a name.

Merlin. It fit so bloody well. Of course he’d have a name like Merlin.

Thoughts and images which he’d pushed to the back of his mind began to rise up: an agitated boy with black hair; thin-pointed face, so scrawny that his cheeks were hollows filled with shadow; wide eyes that tried to eat everything up without missing a detail, yet blazed with intensity when they locked onto something. In the alleyway, he’d been all shadows and ghostly-white skin, huddling in a swathe of dark fabric. Arthur remembered the way he held his pale hands in front of him, almost luminous, in the moment before he looked up and realised Arthur was there. Then he’d moved fast, lurching backwards with an animalistic fear, before shrinking back to stillness. It was hard to be sure if he was real or not – the boy seemed so liminal, as though at any moment he might disappear into the grey, sketchy darkness. Arthur felt like he should leave him be, and forget he ever saw someone so vulnerable, someone so clearly not meant to be seen.

Afterwards, even as he tried desperately to wipe the memories, he found himself watching the shadows. Even though he knew they had to be empty, for a week or two he stole glances in the alleyways he passed, hoping no-one would notice his curiosity, but he never saw that pale, thin face. He told himself he was looking because it was his duty to Camelot, but he knew that wasn’t the truth.

He couldn’t explain to anyone what the stranger stood for in his mind. The obsession fuelled him for at least a month, and he kept telling himself if he just saw him one more time then he’d be happy. It’d be proof that there was _something_ out there, something unattainable, mysterious and everything Arthur could never be. But he didn’t see him. Disappointment amplified his boredom and disillusionment with Pendragon Security, and he found himself stagnating.

Then, that morning, three days ago, he’d caught a glimpse among the bustle of people. A frayed scarf and a dirty coat (he’d have recognised them everywhere). He’d spun and shouted and caught the attention of the boy who was vanishing fast and there were no shadows this time, only sun. The light caught in his hair. It almost disguised the dirt. Arthur’s memory whittled the encounter down to only a few moments, cut off by the man’s fast departure – he vanished into the crowd, seemingly lost to the wind.

He never even noticed that his money had been stolen.

The jailer, John, came back into the room, settled into his chair on the desk and asked what the charge was. 

Arthur stood up and blinked at him for a moment, processing the question. He realised he’d changed his mind. ‘Uh, petty theft, actually. Nothing big.’

John picked up his pen and started to fill in the form. ‘How much, and who from?’

‘I don’t actually know how much, and . . . well, me.’ He paused. ‘You know what, John, why don’t we leave the forms this time?’

‘Oh?’ John looked up at him with a curious expression.

‘Er, he’s a friend of a friend, I believe, so it’s a bit of a tricky situation. I don’t think he’ll ever repeat the offense – they’ve vouched for him, and, I mean, if you just look at the boy it’s clear that he’s mostly harmless. Mostly, I just wanted – well, I was thinking I’d just give him a bit of a scare, you know? A stint in prison won’t do him any harm.’

John nodded, accepting Arthur’s hasty explanation. ‘Sounds all fine to me, Mr. Pendragon. And, let’s keep it between you and me, eh? Though I’m not complaining about leaving some forms nice and empty.’ He winked.

‘Great,’ Arthur said, relieved.

The officer was thinking. ‘Though, sir, seeing as you’re from headquarters and all, and seeing as he’s not a threat –as you said – does that give me permission to drop other protocol? The tests and such? Just I thought it wouldn’t make sense what with there being no actual forms evidencing the arrest.’

Arthur hadn’t considered security protocol. ‘We’ll make an exception for this case, and keep it between us. Saves you the trouble, and there’s no point with him anyway. He’ll be out tomorrow. And speaking of that, someone else will be along to pick him up. They’ll have my card.’

‘Rightio. I’ll pass the message on.’

‘Thanks, John.’ Arthur smiled at him as he left.

Driving home, he fell back into his thoughts. He felt a little strange, having broken procedure like that. It was _Merlin_ , he realised, who was making him act so oddly. Both times he met the man, Arthur felt like he had brushed across a different world. Merlin didn’t quite match up with Camelot, and Arthur couldn’t figure out why.

The day he saw him on the street had left him unable to concentrate at work. In fact, he’d festered in his own frustration for the last two days, trying not to notice how the not-so-small obsession with the stranger, this Merlin, was well and truly breaking back to the surface, despite all his attempts to lock it in the back of his mind. And today, with the dreary work and the incident with Uther, he’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t think about the man ever again, because it was the only way he could comprehend continuing – even if it depressed him.

And then he’d been there. In Arthur’s home, with Arthur’s friends. The shock got him first, then the anger – because this just wasn’t fair – and then the refusal to admit that he knew the man, because it meant admitting what the man meant to him, and admitting that everything he thought the man was might not be true. Because he sat there, all clean and wearing different clothes. He wasn’t a phantom of the shadows, nor a mirage in golden sunlight. He was real and drunk and everyone knew him; he wasn’t Arthur’s apparition any longer.

Arthur didn’t want to admit that that was why he acted like he did. But it probably was.

*

_He was walking through the mist, looking for his mother. There were figures mulling about all around him, and though he could not see their faces he knew exactly who each of them would be: Will's parents - but not Will; the old lady who only spoke in croaks, who made Merlin afraid; the man with the dark eyes and the scar on his cheek, his body swirling and morphing with the mist, tendrils of limbs creeping closer to Merlin. He felt himself shrinking back, and as he did so he fell slowly, unable to regain balance and unable to move consciously. Then the mist dissipated. The greyness became the dirt-specked faces of children - and there was Will. They clutched each other. He was confused, Merlin saw, and he was scared. Will mumbled some words, but Merlin couldn’t hear anything except for a rushing noise that kept increasing in volume, impossibly. Something bad was going to happen. He knew it. There was a flash of lightning, and a flash of red; he tried to turn to see what it was, but he couldn’t move, he couldn’t get away, he was going to die, he wanted his mother, the crowd was parting, he couldn’t move, Will was gone, he was going to die, and then there was fire, and the worst pain he’d ever felt, and then he was crying, face pressed to the mud . . ._

 ‘Up.’

Merlin opened his eyes and squinted at the unfamiliar figure. Which was coming closer, he realised. Too close for comfort. He started to edge away, but a dark-clothed arm stretched out and roughly pulled him up, momentarily dragging him across the floor before he found his feet.

The dream had left him disorientated. He was glad to remember he was no longer a child, though he was shaken by the memory. He blinked a few times, grounding himself securely in the present. His eyes darted to the face of the guard, who he didn’t recognise, then around the cell, which he definitely recognised. Camelot’s prison.

The guard didn’t drag him about like Arthur had. Merlin was directed to follow, and could walk with his dignity reasonably intact.

Merlin expected to be taken deeper within the building, though he had no clue what he’d find there. Nothing good, he reckoned. Either way, Camelot prisons could hardly be worse than those in the Free City. But he quickly realised that he was retracing his steps from yesterday.

‘Are you letting me go?’ Merlin asked, shocked.

The guard spoke over her shoulder. ‘Yep. Lucky you didn’t commit a proper crime, and that the officer was soft on you, because most crims end up over the wall, and you would never want that.’

‘Seriously?’

She looked at him critically. ‘You think I’m lying? Unless you want to end up in that pit I’d be counting my blessings right now, not fact-checking, hey? Reckon it’s already dodgy enough how you’re being let go so easy.’ They re-entered the front room, which was now full of light and she presented him to the man at the desk. ‘This is Pendragon’s one, sir, ready to go.’

The man slowly looked up and then waved a hand indifferently. ‘Take him to the woman outside.’

It was almost too easy, Merlin thought. He was waiting for a trick, or an ultimatum, or a threat – something, at least, to make him feel more certain about what was happening. There was no way that Arthur would approve of him getting away so easily.

The guard took him out into the sunshine. Once Merlin’s eyes adjusted he saw Morgana standing tall, her long dark hair blowing in the soft breeze.

‘I’ll take him from here, thanks,’ she said to the guard, who nodded respectfully.

Merlin watched from the corner of his eye, mouth slightly agape, until she went back inside and he turned to Morgana with a face full of confusion.

Morgana laughed and gave him a hug. ‘I’m glad to see you again.’

‘You got me out,’ he stated.

‘No, I just picked you up.’ They got into her car. ‘Arthur organised it all, actually. If you can believe that.’

‘What?’ Merlin asked, incredulous.

‘Uncharacteristic, I know. We were all shocked when he came back, saying you’d be out tomorrow and one of us had to come and get you. Especially after the scene he caused, dragging you off like that.’

‘Oh.’ They sat in silence for a while, as Merlin comprehended this. ‘Is he normally so . . . abrupt? And angry?’

Morgana frowned. ‘No. He’s normally quite kind even if he does make some stupid decisions. He can be rash and self-centred, but he’s generally thoughtful too. Which is why I don’t quite know why he acted like that. I thought, maybe . . .’ she trailed off.

‘Maybe what?’

‘Maybe that there was something between you that he didn’t want anyone to know about.’ She paused, seeing the way Merlin frowned. ‘I only thought so because of that odd refusal to admit you knew each other, when you so clearly did, and the shock at seeing each other, and then how he made sure you didn’t get a full punishment. I guess it was a strange situation and I just put two and two together, and –’

‘Morgana,’ Merlin interrupted, ‘nothing happened between us. Nothing relevant. I don’t know what you’re imagining, but . . .’ He trailed off, shrugging his shoulders.

‘What did happen, then?’ she asked soft-voiced. ‘You both said something about an alleyway. And you took money from him.’

Merlin looked out the window, listening to the soft whirr of the engine. ‘All it was, was me sheltering from a storm in an alleyway and he happened to be there and I got a fright. I was cold and sick and he left as quick as he could. Was months ago. The next time we met –’

‘You met more than once?’

‘Yeah. I saw him on Wednesday, a few hours before Gwen invited me to hers. It was on some street, and I stole from him without recognising him, but he saw me and remembered me and caught my arm. I was a bit scared, because I thought he’d noticed me taking the money, but he hadn’t. We talked for a bit and then I left. That’s it.’ Merlin kept staring out at nothing.  

‘Oh,’ Morgana said. ‘I’m sorry for being nosy. And for assuming.’

‘You thought I sold myself to him.’ He looked over at her slowly, coldly.

She was looking straight ahead, and didn’t turn to face him for a while. Then she swallowed and glanced over. ‘I’m sorry.’

He could see it was sincere. ‘It’s alright.’

They were silent for the rest of the drive.

*

Gwen hugged him so tight he couldn’t breathe.

‘I can’t believe Arthur, you know! I wanted to hit him!’

Merlin grinned at his friend. ‘I’d still quite like to.’

‘How was the jail? It wasn’t too terrible? I hope you’re okay!’

‘It was fine, Gwen. I pretty much slept the entire time I was there, and then I was out. I’ve had much worse,’ he reassured her.

She frowned, concerned. ‘Like what?’

His heart skipped a beat as he realised his slip. ‘Er, well, it was actually quite comfortable compared to some of the places I’ve had to stay. Alleyways, and such.’ It wasn’t a lie, but he’d been thinking of something quite different. Something Gwen would struggle to believe, and which he’d never be able to tell her.

Her frown became a sympathetic smile. ‘I’m sorry, of course. Well, do you fancy some tea?’

The day was quiet and uneventful, which Merlin was very happy with. He spent his time looking through Gwen’s books (including many skinny ones which she called magazines) which were more lavish than anything he’d seen. His mother had taught him to read as a child, which was a rare ability in the Free City, but he was thankful for it now. There were so many words in Camelot, and it seemed like everybody read.

In the evening, Morgana came around. He was still a little bit bothered by her assumption in the car, but the news she brought with her cleared that up very quickly.

‘I’ve found you a job!’ she exclaimed, smiling widely.

‘A job?’ Merlin asked.

‘Indeed. I told you I’d do whatever I could to set you up nicely in Camelot. So now you’ve got a job. You start on Monday.’

Gwen was brimming with excitement. ‘Oh my god! You’re incredible, Morgana!’

Merlin grinned, more than a bit surprised. ‘Where is it? What is it?’

‘It’s in town, I can take you in, and it’s an assistant position in my father’s company. You won’t have to worry about it being difficult, because you’ll mostly be doing deliveries and prep-work, and the physician you’ll be assisting is so brilliant. I talked to him about you, and he’s willing to take you on. He’s always had assistants learn on the job, so that works for you. I told him you’re a hard worker, too, and I trust you’ll live up to that description?’ Morgana’s face was lit up with nearly as much excitement as Gwen’s.

‘I . . . I don’t know what to say. Thank you,’ he said. He laughed in disbelief. ‘I won’t forget this, truly.’

Over the rest of the evening, Gwen’s little house had a steady stream of visitors. Gwaine and Percy dropped in to ask Merlin how he was, and to commend him for livening up the night. Mithian, who Merlin hadn’t properly spoken to, came to visit as well – also wanting to see how he was. She brought a little box of cakes, and was entirely lovely. Leon popped his head in the door, in a rush, to say he was glad Merlin got out so fast, and that he entirely disagreed with Arthur’s reaction and he’d give him a talking to when he saw him at work. Morgana stayed throughout, clearly quite at home at Gwen’s.

It was nearing nine o’clock when someone knocked on the door again. Merlin was washing dishes in the kitchen as Gwen answered it, but when he heard an all-too-familiar voice ask, ‘Where is he?’ he dried his hands and faced Arthur Pendragon for the fourth time in his life.

‘I’m here,’ Merlin said softly.

Arthur was standing by the door, scowling, full of tension. Gwen looked between the two of them frantically.

‘Get out of here, Arthur,’ Morgana said. ‘You’re not welcome.’

Arthur ignored her. ‘Give me back my money,’ he barked at Merlin. ‘At least, whatever is still remaining.’

‘Arthur, you’re in my house,’ Gwen said angrily, ‘and I would very much like it if you left, and stopped being rude to my guest while you’re at it.’

Merlin looked only at Arthur with a direct, cool gaze. ‘It’s okay, Gwen. If Arthur would like to follow me, I’ll give him his money back.’

Merlin went to his room, with Arthur behind, and showed the money to him. It was lying on the bedside table.

‘That’s all of it,’ he said.

Arthur pushed past him to grab it. ‘How much did you spend, then?’

‘None,’ Merlin retorted. ‘Didn’t get a chance. And you have Gwen to thank for that. I would’ve spent it if I could.’

He watched as Arthur went minutely red. Merlin felt smug, but he made sure his expression remained an emotionless glare. Arthur looked like he was fighting desperately to keep words down.

He failed. ‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Well, don’t expect any more favours from me anytime soon.’ Arthur pushed past him for a second time, and stormed down the hallway.

Merlin watched, shaking his head slowly. He wished Will was here. They’d have a right laugh.

*

Merlin poked his head through the door, looking for signs of life within the room.

‘Hello?’ he called.

There was no reply. He let himself in anyway, walking into what Morgana had called “the lab.” By the way everyone else used the word he supposed its function was common knowledge, but he couldn’t risk letting on that he had no clue as to what it was, and that left him feeling distressingly ill-informed. He didn’t know what he expected – perhaps something bleak like the prison, or shiny and sleek like everything owned by the Pendragons, seeing as this was technically their property. But Merlin was thoroughly surprised as to how homely it was. Some of the benches shone silver (judging by those not entirely buried under piles of paper and mysterious gadgets), but most were wooden. There were stray mugs everywhere and where there weren’t, there were pale rings where water had steeped for too long. Merlin found himself brushing his fingers across a shelf of colourful jars, all labelled with words he didn’t recognise and wasn’t sure he could pronounce. There was machinery, too, which Merlin didn't dare to touch. He saw a half-eaten sandwich abandoned on a plate. The air was warm and smelt old, though not in a bad way, and there were two big windows on the far side which let sunlight stream across the room, illuminating specks of dust – they swirled around each other, minute and beautiful.

‘What are you doing in here?’

Merlin turned fast at the voice, trying not to look guilty. It came from an old man with neat, long white hair and a wrinkled face. Merlin guessed the wrinkles meant the man normally smiled a lot, but otherwise he’d never have known because the man was frowning at him, one eyebrow raised in suspicion.

‘Sorry!’ Merlin said quickly. ‘I was told to come here, and so I let myself in. Are you Gaius?’

The man kept frowning at him in a very peculiar way. ‘Yes, I am. And who, might I ask, are you?’

‘I’m Merlin.’ He stepped forward, holding out a hand. ‘Your new assistant.’

Gaius had a firm handshake. He stared at Merlin like he was trying to solve a riddle.

‘Ah, of course. The one Morgana recommended. Please excuse the mess . . .’ he trailed off, deep in thought, then snapped back to reality. ‘What do you know about working in a lab?’

Merlin bit his lip. ‘Er, not much, I’m afraid. I hope that won’t be a problem.’ Gaius had very discerning eyes once they focused on you, Merlin thought. He felt quite exposed. 

Gaius waved a hand, not fussed. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve had to teach on the job, but I do like it better that way. Easier than when young folk come in here with flash ideas of their own, and mess things around and complicate my system. Well, to get you started, I’ll have you filling out these forms– all you have to do is copy the information down,’ he picked up a tray full of papers covered in stamps and scrawled handwriting, ‘from the sample that it matches.’ He put the tray down and picked up another full of little sealed jars. ‘All these jars are the samples, and the number on it matches the jar to the form. So make sure to pair them up correctly first. When they’re all done you can leave them here,’ he placed a wrinkled hand on a shelf, ‘for me to analyse, and then I’ll put the finished samples on this shelf – the outgoing one – and you can deliver them to wherever they need to go. Alright?’

Gaius then busied himself with one of the machines, and Merlin started to sort through the papers.

He’d never done work like this before, and he was slow at first. It was confusing and the repetition was agitating. But he kept at it, and soon the confusing piles neatened up, and then began to shrink until he’d cleared a whole bench. Gaius didn’t speak much and kept to his own side of the room; Merlin didn’t want to disturb him, so he didn’t speak either, except for reading under his breath, softly, to memorise chains of numbers. His handwriting was a bit wobbly, being many years since he’d first sat down with his mother by the fire and practised, but as he went along the lines straightened up and got to look a bit more uniform. He was puzzling over the spelling of another long word when he realised Gaius was standing in front of him.

‘What does the name Balinor mean to you?’ he demanded.

‘Balinor? I don’t think I’ve heard it before,’ Merlin replied, entirely honest.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. Definitely.’ Merlin frowned. ‘Why?’

Gaius frowned too, then mumbled: ‘No reason.’ He turned away. 

Merlin kept watching the old man, wondering why he looked so troubled.

*

‘How was it?’ Gwen asked him, when he got home.

The room was cosily lit and warm. Gwen was curled up with a blanket and some knitting, and Elyan – judging by the sound of spitting oil - was frying their dinner.

‘Decent work. I think I’ll like it there,’ Merlin told her. ‘But I reckon Gaius – my boss – is suspicious of me, for some reason. He kept watching me really closely.’

‘Huh.’ Gwen pursed her lips. ‘Maybe he’s just really cautious with new apprentices?’

‘Yeah, maybe,’ Merlin said. ‘Or just a bit batty.’

For the rest of the week Merlin carried out the same tasks, always conscious of Gaius watching him. There was no mention of the Balinor incident. Merlin was happy to push it to the back of his mind; it was easier to pretend it hadn’t happened. Despite his suspicious outlook the old man became friendlier as the week went by, and Merlin quickly warmed to his stern yet fond nature.

*

 ‘So what is it you actually do here?’ Merlin asked, during their Friday lunch break. ‘You said you test the samples. What for?’

Gaius looked up in surprise. ‘Oh. Well, we get quite a few requests for various tests down here, but the main body of my work involves the DNA samples taken during the procedure. My testing means we can determine if magic is present.’

Merlin’s heart skipped. ‘You’re testing for magic?!’

‘Yes. But they nearly always come up as negative these days.’

Merlin bit his tongue to stop himself asking what ‘DNA’ was, because he’d heard it mentioned casually so many times now that he was certain it was common knowledge. He didn’t want to reveal his ignorance. “The procedure,” on the other hand, was something he’d heard only once or twice – he thought it was worth a shot.

‘What do you mean by the procedure? Just to be certain,’ Merlin asked, looking at Gaius with what he hoped was a direct, confident gaze. 

Gaius raised an eyebrow. ‘I mean _the procedure_ ,’ he said, as though it should be clear.

‘Right,’ Merlin nodded. ‘I thought so.’

Merlin suddenly found the sprinkling of crumbs on his plate very interesting.

‘Merlin?’

He looked up. ‘Yeah?’

‘I don’t mean to intrude,’ Gaius said cautiously, ‘but you should let me know if you have a . . . personal opposition to the work I’m doing here. I’m more than happy to discuss the ethics of it with you. If you wish to end your work here, I will not let your reasons become publicly known, if that is any reassurance. But I will ask you to please hear more from me before you make that decision.’ He was very serious, and spoke like this speech was familiar to him.

Merlin didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know enough yet. He stared wide eyed, a little afraid.

‘Gaius, I don’t think I understand. Maybe it’s different in Ealdor?’ Ignorance seemed the best route to go down; it was the truth, after all.

‘Ealdor?’

‘That’s where I’m from. Probably should have let you know that before now, sorry.’

Gaius frowned. ‘I see. And yes, I suppose they wouldn’t have the test in Essetir. Well, my boy, I suppose I can explain it for you, but it isn’t . . . it isn’t the pleasantest of things, I’m afraid.’

‘I’m not fussed.’

‘Well then. The procedure was Uther’s big breakthrough for Pendragon Security . . . it was about thirty years ago, if I remember correctly. They discovered a test which could detect magic in unborn children. All expecting mothers are required to have the procedure – it shows up in their system, you see – and we can see if the child within them is a sorcerer or not.’

‘Oh,’ Merlin said. ‘You can’t tell if the mother is one, though?’

‘No. We’ve no test for people already born.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s not quite clear. Magic is already very unscientific in itself – it doesn’t obey the laws of physics, and we’ve never been able to grasp what exactly it is in biological terms. But, almost by accident, I discovered that there’s a minute change to the cellular biology of a woman pregnant with a sorcerer – we don’t know why, but it’s there, and consistently so. When Uther found out he immediately realised its potential.’

‘You discovered it?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so. Not my finest hour,’ Gaius said the last part softly.

Merlin considered him for a moment, before asking: ‘What happens when it comes up positive?’ He had a feeling he already knew the answer.

Gaius closed his eyes. ‘The women are given an option. They can choose to abort the child or, if they refuse, they are removed from Camelot and sent across the wall. In the first case, they and their partner are kept under supervision in case evidence of magic appears in either of them. If they show signs, they are put over the wall.’

They fell silent.

It was easy to put two and two together. Most of his life, he’d known that his mother came from Camelot. She didn’t keep it secret: her stories had been fantastic, unimaginable, full of colour. They were a major source of his eagerness to explore the other side, once he realised he could get through. And, growing up on the streets of the Free City, it was so easy to tell who was born there and who wasn’t. There were particular ways of moving and speaking, as well as different quirks of culture that often clashed. Merlin had not lived in a time when pregnant women were abandoned within the wall in droves, but he knew that there was a generation of Camelot-born mothers because _his_ mother was one of them. And he’d noticed when occasionally they still appeared – lost and terrified. They were pitied and welcomed, unlike the hordes of magical and non-magical criminals.

Before now, however, he’d had no knowledge of the choice they had been forced to make.

He shook slightly as he realised his mother had given up her life in Camelot so that he might live.

‘Merlin?’ Gaius’s voice was cautious, concerned.

Merlin couldn’t look him in the eyes. ‘You invented it.’

‘I wish I hadn’t.’

‘You still did. You’re still _doing_ the test, even now!’

Gaius sighed sadly. ‘I know.’

‘Why?’

‘I am bound by contract. I made a deal. It was selfish, but I did it, and I’ve spent a good part of my life trying to heal the damage I’ve done.’

‘Right.’ Merlin met Gaius’ eyes. ‘That’s a terrible excuse, and you know it.’

‘Yes, I know.’ He paused before saying: ‘You’re passionate about the rights of sorcerers.’ He said it frankly, there was nothing accusatory in his tone.

Merlin continued to look straight at him. His silence was all the answer Gaius needed.

‘I’m sure you’ve noticed how much I’ve been observing you this week –’

‘How is that related?’

‘Just . . . just wait. Let me speak. I’ve been trying to understand and remember something that happened many years ago, and I’m trying to see if I might have assumed something, if I might have lost track of a particular thread, accidentally, or if I’d been misled, or if I’m completely wrong . . .’

Merlin huffed, irritated by Gaius’ rambling.

‘Sorry, m’boy. I’m starting it wrong. I want to know if I can trust you. At the same time I want you to know you can trust me. To get to that point, I’m going to have to . . .’ he broke off, looking at the open door to his lab, then went to close it.

‘Why’d you do that?’ Merlin asked. ‘No one comes down here.’

‘I don’t want to be heard talking about this. Now.’ He settled back into his chair, and looked at Merlin earnestly. ‘Don’t be alarmed, but I have reason to believe that you have magic.’ He spoke quietly, quickly.

Merlin tensed.

‘Please, don’t be frightened,’ Gaius said. ‘Am I correct?’

Again, Merlin’s silence spoke loud and true.   

Gaius smiled. ‘I think I knew your parents.’

‘What?!’

‘I asked you before about Balinor.’

‘I’ve never heard that name before, I told you already.’

‘What about Hunith?’

Merlin stared at him.

‘Your mother?’

‘Yes. How did you know?’

‘I taught them both, many years ago.’

‘But how did you know they were my parents?’

‘The likeness is startling. You look very much like your father, and there are touches of Hunith about you too. I saw the similarities the moment I met you.’

‘And you knew I had magic because . . .?’

‘Because I knew Hunith’s test result. And because any child of Balinor’s was bound to be.’

Merlin tried to take it all in. It was a lot. Gaius knew his parents, his _father._ Gaius knew Hunith had had a magical child. Gaius knew he was a sorcerer. Gaius hadn’t turned him in. He had so many questions, but the one he managed to ask was: ‘My father was a sorcerer?’

Gaius nodded. ‘And so am I.’

And that left him with even more questions, but Merlin couldn’t find the voice to ask them fast enough. Just as he was about to speak, the door to the lab opened and a runner entered, carrying a new set of tests for Merlin to sort through. Gaius gave him a look that said  _we'll continue this conversation later,_ and he shuffled back to his own work. 

As he worked, Merlin's mind raced. This was perfect. The idea of a sorcerer living in Camelot was incredible enough - he'd never expected to find one at all, let alone in a trusted position at Pendragon Security. Merlin couldn't believe his luck. It was surely too good to be true. 


	9. Chapter 9

Gaius kept himself and Merlin frustratingly busy for the rest of the day. Merlin noticed the way the old man kept his back turned, always choosing the workbench farthest from wherever Merlin happened to be. The gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach (a concoction of anxiety, impatience and a poisonous intrigue) kept Merlin’s eyes jumping back to Gaius constantly, like a tic, in the hope that he’d turn and catch Merlin’s eye, so that they could finally resume their conversation.  But even when he did turn, Gaius didn’t bother to grant him a glance his way. The avoidance was painful to watch, and as the clock ticked closer to five, Merlin found himself getting more and more annoyed.

He’d been trying to focus on his work, of course, but he couldn’t shake the idea that the feather-light container in his palm might be one like his mother’s – filled with corrupting evidence – and that in labelling it and ordering it and passing it on, he was entirely complicit in the destruction of someone’s life. So rather than working with his head down, he’d rolled the cylinders in his hands and rearranged them on his table, and counted them, and stacked them, and stared at them. He was in the middle of a bout of staring when he noticed Gaius slip past him, quietly, towards the door.

‘Wait – don’t! You can’t just leave like that, with nothing more said!’ Merlin exclaimed, standing up hurriedly, his stool scraping the floor as it flew back.

Gaius stood still, his hand on the door handle. ‘We shouldn’t talk about it in here. It’s dangerous.’

‘We were talking about it before just fine!’

‘Hush!’ Gaius let the handle click back up, turning back into the room to look Merlin in the eye (at last, Merlin thought). ‘I was acting rashly before. I said too much.’

‘Well, there’s no point taking it back. You’ve said it now.’

Gaius sighed. ‘We have to be careful.’

‘You don’t think I know that?’

‘I know you do, m’boy. I’m just finding it . . . difficult . . .  to come to terms with the fact that I’ve told you. I haven’t spoken aloud about . . . magic . . . like this in years. I got carried away earlier.’

‘You mean you don’t know if you can trust me,’ Merlin stated, matter-of-fact.

Gaius struggled for words momentarily. ‘Trust is not easily given in this city. But in my gut, I do trust you, even as the rational part of my mind is telling me I shouldn’t. I want to answer the questions I’m sure you have, Merlin, I just need to remember my courage – if there’s any of that left after all these years of hiding and grovelling. I fear it might have dried up.’

‘If it helps, is there a place where we can we talk that’s better than here?’

‘Out of this building. Ideally out of Camelot. But my car may have to do – would you like a lift home?’

After closing up, Gaius showed Merlin to his car. It was raining heavily, and the evening had closed in. The two of them settled into the seats to talk with the window wipers blaring. Merlin watched the scattered droplets as they caught the orange glow from the streetlights. The car was alone in the park.

‘So you’re a sorcerer,’ Merlin said. ‘How are you still alive? You’re right under Uther’s nose.’

‘First let me apologise. I misspoke earlier when I said I was a sorcerer. I was once, but I’m not anymore. That’s how I survived.’ Gaius spoke heavily.

‘But that doesn’t make sense. You can’t just _stop_ being a sorcerer. Magic doesn’t go away.’

‘It does if you bury it deep.’

‘I didn’t even know that was possible,’ Merlin said, horrified. ‘I – I can’t comprehend. . . why? Why would you want to?’

‘Like I said, it was the only way I could survive. I made a deal to give up my magic. After long enough it shrivelled up within me. It’s like a muscle – if you don’t use it, it weakens. I haven’t used my magic for so long, Merlin, that I don’t think I could if I tried.’

’You said that before, that you made a deal. It’s with Uther, isn’t it?’

Gaius nodded once. ‘I was a coward. Too afraid of death.’

‘How did he find out?’

‘I was young and foolish and proud. You must understand, Merlin, before Uther introduced the test, there were still ways for magical folk to be born this side of Camelot. For those whose parents weren’t known sorcerers, who weren’t caught as children, who got old enough to control their magic and hide it – the only way to survive was to pretend. I went to school and university, like any other young man in Camelot. I got a job in a lab, we did advanced genetic work, and I worked my way through the ranks. My work was my life: I loved it more than I loved magic, but I couldn’t give magic up either. And so I got caught. It was my co-worker who turned me in, and I was taken straight to Uther. I barely remember what went down in that office, my terror turned the memory hazy, but I walked out of it alive. I had a splinter of cold iron under my skin, and a new assignment at Pendragon Security. He needed geneticists, and I was one of the best. So I became a part of the team which eventually, years later, discovered the Procedure. I unleashed that horror. I gave Uther the power.’

‘You had no choice!’ Merlin protested.

‘I always had a choice, Merlin,’ Gaius said gravely, ‘and I valued my own life before the lives of my people. I’ve regretted that decision every day since.’

‘You shouldn’t have had to make that decision.’

‘You’re too forgiving, Merlin. My mistake tore your family apart, and so many others.’

Merlin shook his head, trying to find the words. ‘How did you know my parents?’

‘They were both my apprentices. At different times, of course. It was a strange coincidence. When they met, my apprentice was Hunith – your mother. She was a wonderful woman, and so kind.’

‘And my father?’

‘He was my first pupil, and like a son to me. Even after he’d ended his apprenticeship with me, we remained friends. I knew he had magic, though he didn’t know of mine. I warned him, I did, that he should be more careful – he was involved in the resistance, though, so there was no doubt that he’d get into trouble one day. He got hurt – badly – there was a raid, I believe, on a house that was a refuge for wanted sorcerers. Hunith was passing by, and saw him escape. She brought him here, and asked me to help her save him. And hide him. I don’t think she could stop herself from helping him – she was that kind of person.’

‘Is,’ Merlin interrupted. ‘She still is.’

Gaius looked at him curiously. ‘Yes. Of course. But yes, she brought him here, and I fixed him up, and then she cared for him in her own home. And like in a storybook, they fell in love.’

‘She never told me,’ Merlin said quietly. Gaius waited in silence as Merlin processed this entirely unfamiliar story.

‘Did my mother know he was a sorcerer?’ he asked eventually.

‘Yes. He was publicly wanted by Pendragon Security.’

‘Why’d you help them?’

Gaius laughed humourlessly. ‘Why do you think, m’boy? I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t. And I thought they were safe, that I’d done enough to keep them from harm. But then I saw Hunith’s positive test. I was devastated. I tried everything I could to cover it up, but it was too late, it’d already been processed. I sent warning, and your father managed to disappear – I think your mother stated that the father was unknown in her case to protect him. But there was no evidence otherwise. It made it a short case, and,’ Gaius paused, sighing heavily, ‘before I was aware she’d been taken in, she was gone, deported over the wall.’ He paused again, grief shadowing his eyes. ‘At least, that’s what I’ve thought all these years. I’ve come across a problem, see, Merlin. A question that has bothering me all week. If you are indeed the child of Hunith and Balinor, how on earth are you here in Camelot? It just doesn’t make sense. I can’t see how Hunith managed escaped into Ealdor. I’d never thought it to be possible.’

‘Oh,’ Merlin said. ‘Um.’

‘Yes?’

‘Well. I’mnotreallyfromEaldor,’ Merlin mumbled under his breath, as fast as he could.

‘Sorry?’

‘Um. I’m not . . .I’m not, er, I’m not really from . . . Ealdor. Not really.’

The air in the car seemed to freeze. All of a sudden Merlin felt like he could hear everything, from the rustling of the fabric of their clothes, to the pulse of blood in his own neck.

‘What do you mean?’ Gaius asked.

‘I’m from the Free City.’

‘The what?’

‘Over the wall. I’m from over the wall.’ The words spilled from Merlin’s mouth like foam. Like he was confessing to something worse than murder.

Gaius paled. When he spoke, his voice was flat. ‘How? How is that possible?’

‘I don’t know. I can get through the iron somehow. It doesn’t affect my magic.’

‘It’s not possible. It’s not. It can’t be.’

‘I’m telling the truth.’

‘I can’t believe it.’

‘You have to. I’m living proof it’s possible.’

 ‘From over the wall . . .’ For a few moments, Gaius stayed perfectly still, his brow furrowed. Then a switch seemed to turn on within his mind, and a range of emotional extremes flashed across his face – excitement, fear, incredulity. ‘Never mind about how. More importantly, w _hy?!_ What are you doing here? In Camelot?! Why on earth would you come here? Don’t you realise this is the most dangerous place for someone like us to be? After all your parents sacrificed, you just walk into this trap? How could you be so stupid!?’

Merlin laughed bitterly. ‘You clearly haven’t seen the Free City.’

‘Of course I haven’t! But you surely knew plenty about Camelot!’

‘Maybe I wanted to see it for myself.’

‘Is that really worth putting your own life at risk?’

‘I don’t plan on getting caught anytime soon.’

‘Merlin, m’boy. It took me less than a week to figure out who your parents were. Do you think others won’t be able to do that?’

‘I don’t expect them to! You knew them better than anyone, I’m sure. Anyway, no one would ever guess I’m from over the wall. You knew who I was, and even you couldn’t guess it!’

‘They can still catch you. You’re working for the business at the heart of anti-magic sentiment, for Christ’s sake! I was caught! You don’t think you will be too?’

Again, Merlin laughed the same bitter laugh. ‘I’m exactly where I want to be.’

This quelled Gaius momentarily. ‘I almost want to stop myself asking this, but what do you mean by that?’

‘I just . . .’ Merlin fumbled for an explanation. ‘Listen, you said we had to trust each other. Despite what you say you’ve done, I trust you, Gaius. You have to trust me too.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m not used this.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I don’t know why you’re here or what you want to do, but I’m guessing it’ll be better for the both of us if I don’t ask. I trust you to know what you’re doing.’

‘I mean, I’ve made it this far,’ Merlin said lightly. ‘Thanks, though.’

Gaius smiled at him: genuine, but worn. ‘Good to settle that. I guess I should drive you home then. Though, Merlin – there’s more we must discuss. A different time, perhaps, will be better.’

‘Of course. Anytime.’

The trip home was quick and quiet. Merlin dashed from the car, waving goodbye over his shoulder as rain pelted onto his coat. When he opened the door to Gwen’s home, he was met by silence. Which was odd. He was already late back because of the discussion, and Gwen was normally there before him anyway, so her absence made him immediately cautious.

‘Hello?’ he called, switching on the lights. His heart was beating fast. This had happened to him before, and he knew the steps off by heart: when people weren’t where they were supposed to be, something was always terribly wrong.

For the smallest of moments, the top of his arm flared with pain. Merlin automatically placed his hand over his shoulder soothingly, and tried not to think about it.

‘Gwen? Are you there?’ he called, hoping.

Everything seemed to be in the right place. He bent over the table, sliding his fingers over the covers of cloth-bound books and glossy magazines, then moving to twirl them in the spirals of velvety, loose wool. Apart from the soft patter of rain, the only sound in the little house was the tick and the tock of the clock on the wall, and Merlin breathed in time with it, trying to calm his nerves. It was then, as he focused on that repetitive tick, that he heard a faint clattering sound – he couldn’t tell what direction it had come from, but he guessed the bedroom – so he went to open the hallway door, and then he was sure he heard footsteps, so he moved faster towards it and threw it open. At the exact same time, someone tried to open the door from within. The intruder jumped back, gasping loudly, throwing their arms up in fright. Simultaneously Merlin yelped; he shoved a hand forward, palm wide, his magic coiled up within him and nearly sprung free, and his lips nearly muttered an incantation. But then:

‘Bloody hell!’ Arthur yelled.

‘You!’ Merlin replied, perhaps too loudly. ‘What the fuck are you doing in here creeping around? With the _lights off?’_

‘Gwen sent me! To try and make friends with you, God knows why. Why the hell are _you_ standing there like you’re about to strangle me?’

Merlin dropped his hands rapidly, embarrassed. ‘Because I thought you were a . . . a killer! Or a thief!’

Arthur scoffed. ‘Funny. Thought you’d know what a thief looks like.’

‘I do know that generally, if you’re a normal, not-thief person visiting a house, you’d do that thing called _turning the lights on._ But you’re clearly not in that category.’

‘Look, I don’t know why I didn’t turn the lights on . . .’

‘Oh? So you admit that’s a little bit odd?’

‘Just leave it. Someone like you wouldn’t understand.’

Merlin laughed at him. ‘I mean, I don’t. But I don’t know whether that’s got more to do with me or you.’

‘Shut up,’ Arthur glowered.

‘You’re doing really great trying to be my friend. Truly. Your attempts amaze me.’

‘Look, let’s just go back to the others, okay?’

‘Ah, I see, you’re my escort. Brilliant!’ Merlin grinned at Arthur, mostly because he knew it would annoy him.

It did. Arthur groaned, ‘come on, you idiot,’ and strode to the door. ‘If I spend another minute alone with you I think I’ll accidentally strangle you.’

Merlin jogged to catch up with him, and they walked through the garden between the houses. ‘How do you accidentally strangle someone?’

Arthur scowled.

‘It’s a serious question. If it’s going to happen to me, I’d like to know. So I can, you know, prepare?’

‘You’d be dead before you even noticed.’

‘Right . . . I thought you were all about following the law.’

‘I am. But I’m also highly trained in self-defence. And if you say another word, I’ll have to kill you to defend my own bloody sanity.’

Merlin laughed disbelievingly. ‘You’re an arse, you know?’

Arthur glared at him as he opened the door to his home, where they were immediately greeted by a very boisterous Gwaine.

‘Hey, man,’ he said to Arthur, then promptly took Merlin by the shoulder, steering him to the other side of the room so swiftly that Merlin couldn’t really do much except hope his feet caught up with the rest of his body. For one moment, though, he managed to look over his shoulder, and he saw Arthur standing completely still in the doorway.

He was watching Merlin intensely (perhaps it was his gaze that sent the shiver down Merlin’s spine) and for a moment, just a moment, their eyes met.

Then Merlin looked away.

*

After much discussion, everyone decided that it was a night for watching movies.

Not that Merlin knew what ‘movies’ meant. He hung back and let everyone else get on with choosing whatever it was. Their argument was becoming heated and seemed to be going nowhere. In the meantime Merlin zoned out a bit, eating crunchy, thin slivers of potato that everyone called ‘chips,’ and which he rather loved.

He skimmed over everything he’d learnt today; the emotional weight of it hadn’t hit him yet. He wondered what it would be like when it did. It was hard to be himself, surrounded by all these almost-friends. He was tired. What he really wanted was to get home to his bed and lie there, stare at the ceiling while he considered everything. What he really wanted was to go to his real home and hug his mother in silence, let her know that he knew what she had been forced to do. Then they would talk about everything they’d never been able to talk about before. He would hug her again. He would stay with her, and never come back to Camelot. Because what he really wanted to do was be anywhere but this noisy room, where he could barely think, and where these people he barely knew were arguing about things that didn’t matter. He needed to be with people who understood.

Gwen’s voice cut through his thoughts. ‘Can we _please_ stay away from the gore movies!’

‘Oh come on! That’s no fun at all,’ Gwaine complained.

‘But this one won an Oscar! It’s really good!’

‘Actually, that means it’s going to be really _boring._ ’

Mithian jumped in. ‘Why don’t we watch The Day I Met a Sorcerer first, and then you guys can watch Druid Massacre after?’

And that seemed to settle it. Gwen pulled Merlin up, and made him sit next to her on the big suede couch. He managed to bring the bowl of chips with him.

‘Have you seen it?’

‘Seen what?’ he asked.

‘The Day I Met a Sorcerer?’

The mention of magic made him uncomfortable, and he didn’t want to misspeak, so he paused for a moment before deciding the truth would be best in this situation. ‘Nah. Never heard of it.’

Gwen looked shocked. ‘What?! It was advertised everywhere! Oh, you’re going to love it. At least, I think you will. What’s your favourite movie, then?’

‘Um –’ he floundered momentarily, but was saved by Gwaine shushing them.

‘It’s starting, no talking! Right, Gwen? You don’t want to miss a bit of this masterpiece.’ Gwaine grinned sardonically at Gwen, and then winked at Merlin with a slightly more genuine grin.

The lights were switched off, and a strong blue light filled the room from the thing opposite them – it was called a “TV”, if Merlin remembered correctly. He looked around in the dark, trying to see where everyone else was sitting. His stomach lurched slightly when he realised that it was Arthur directly to the right of him, on the other couch. He was muttering to Leon, leaning away ever-so-slightly. The light from the TV silhouetted the lines of his neck. It entranced Merlin for a moment, and then he dragged his eyes back to the screen, hoping no one had seen him looking. The lurch of his stomach was definitely because he disliked the man so much. Definitely.

He didn’t really understand what was going on at first, in the movie. It moved quickly, and they spoke fast, and it took him a while to realise it was meant to be a story.

There was a beautiful woman and a beautiful man, and they were in love. They met multiple times: the first was in a shop, and the woman left something behind, and the man ran after her to return it. The second was when the woman was jogging in a garden, and the man was running but not for fitness because he was dressed in a full suit, and kept looking over his shoulder, and they collided coming round a corner, and together rolled into a pond. The third was at a wedding. They danced. The fourth was in a café, and it was the first meeting they had planned, and there was soft, happy music playing. He watched them start to spend their lives together in flashes of moments. They met again at a wedding, except that time it was theirs. They moved into a little yellow house with flowerpots underneath the windows.

Their happiness lulled Merlin. He imagined a universe in which this could be his parents.

Then it went wrong. It went bad. The woman woke up one night, and the man wasn’t there; his side of the bed was cold. She tiptoed down the stairs, and saw a light on in one room. And the man was in there. The camera whirled around him while the woman cried and shook with fear, because he was bent over in a fit, babbling guttural, viscous words. His limbs were bent unnaturally, painfully. There was blood coming from the corners of his eyes. He was desensitised to everything around him, unable to see her, unable to stop his chanting and this horrible display of “magic.” Merlin could tell that was what it was meant to be, but he couldn’t believe they’d got it so stupidly wrong. The man was wild. He was vile. He didn’t look human.

When the man returned to consciousness, he was desperate. He was full of sorrow. He tried hopelessly to calm his wife, who was staying as far away from her as possible. Merlin could barely bear to keep listening, but he heard the man say things like: ‘I can’t control it anymore, it’s taking over me,’ and ‘I was going to tell you, I swear, but I wanted to protect you,’ and ‘I want to destroy every part of myself that this touches.’ The woman said things like: ‘I don’t know who you are anymore,’ and ‘you’re going to hurt me, aren’t you?’ The man said he thought he was, because the corruption had gone too far. He told her he was sorry. He asked her to protect him, if she loved him.

And then it got worse. Merlin didn’t think it was possible, but it did. The movie followed the woman from that point on, focusing on her face as she made herself carry on with her marriage, as she broke-down in bathrooms, as she grew distant from her friends and family, as she started drinking too much, as she drugged the beautiful man who was actually a sorcerer, as she tied him up in a room then locked it, as she went to the authorities, as she watched while he was carted from their little yellow house with cold iron shackles around his wrists, and as he was driven away to his death.

Then the words _The Day I Met A Sorcerer_ flashed, and the screen went black. Mournful music played.

Gwen was sobbing beside him. Merlin couldn’t unclench his jaw. He couldn’t move his eyes from the screeds of rolling white words.

‘Such a beautiful movie,’ Vivian sighed from somewhere across the room.

‘Nah . . . you don’t even get to see him die,’ Elyan laughed.

‘No, but you get to see the pain she goes through! That’s what’s really powerful. You get to see her struggle between love and justice,’ Mithian said.

‘Well, I think that’s an awful choice to have to make,’ Morgana argued. ‘Love and justice? What on earth says “justice” about murdering an innocent man?’

Arthur groaned. ‘Morgana, for once in your life, can you just let a movie be a movie without getting political?’

‘He wasn’t innocent, anyway, remember?’ Leon said quietly, trying to placate Morgana – but she bristled.

‘He didn’t do anything except exist! And I think I will “get political” with a movie which is very obviously dealing in political issues. It’s been hailed as humanising sorcerers more than any film has ever done before. But it’s all told from the woman’s perspective! If it really wanted to humanise him, they’d give him a more sympathetic story. Maybe they wouldn’t have the woman who’s supposed to love him go and sentence him to death!’

‘But that’s the tragedy of it,’ Gwen said. ‘I thought you’d like it.’ She looked put-out.

‘And you’ve got to admit that they really did humanise him by making him innocent in every other way. He got the love story, and he wasn’t a criminal except for his magic,’ Leon said.

‘It’s realistic,’ Vivian said. ‘No one’s going to protect a sorcerer.’

Mithian looked at her friend. ‘Oh, I disagree, Viv! I don’t think it’s meant to be realistic. Obviously it could’ve happened once. But, I mean, who’s going to fall in love with a sorcerer? These days they’re all either dead or over the Wall.’

Merlin saw hurt flash across Morgana’s face. She stood up quickly. ‘I changed my mind. I’m not in the mood for arguing this again. I’m going to bed. Goodnight.’ Leon grasped her hand, trying to calm her, but she left quickly, the pain replaced by fury.

‘That’s alright. We’ll have a lot more fun without you,’ Arthur jeered. ‘Well, Merlin, I suppose that was your first experience of the quaint political views of my dear sister. Still want to be her friend? We wouldn’t judge you if you didn’t. She’s a bloody nuisance.’

‘I didn’t expect it,’ Merlin mumbled. Which was true. He could barely unclench his jaw to speak.

In the meantime, Gwaine and Percy had started the next movie. Merlin didn’t know if he would be able to sit through another.

This one was called Dead or Alive 4: Druid Massacre. And in the first five minutes, he realised this was even farther from reality than the first movie. The premise was a crudely parodied depiction of “druids” – figures Merlin had heard tales about for as long as he could remember. Everyone in the Free City respected the idea of them deeply: their peaceful ways of life in the days before the Wall, their magical knowledge, their prophecies and myths. Yet the vision he saw on screen was horrifically wrong, altered beyond recognition. When the heroes of the film started to murder the druids with unbelievable cruelty, and this was met with laughs and cheers from most of his friends, Merlin stood up, shaking and sick to his stomach.

‘I’m going to go home,’ he told the room. ‘Tired from work.’

He got a collection of good-byes, but they didn’t pay much attention. They were engrossed by the genocide on the screen.

He stumbled through the garden. He left the lights off in Gwen’s house as he walked to his room. He collapsed on his bed. He lay looking at the ceiling.

Merlin couldn’t deny it. If any person in that room knew what he was, they would happily watch him die.  

In Camelot, sorcerers weren’t just illegal. They were barely human.

And that was when the weight of all he had learned that day finally hit him. He lay there, shaking, certain the walls were closing in on him, sure that he could feel the hatred emanating from the other room, feel it digging into his heart. He knew then that he was further from home than he had ever been in his life.


	10. Chapter 10

On the far side of Camelot, far from the wall and the city, there was a gathering in a small, dark cellar. Most were aged and weary, with only one under twenty-seven, but they looked as though they came from all walks of life – and that was what made it most strange. These people did not dress, act or speak as though they had anything in common.

A tall, ruggedly handsome man split off from the group and stepped on top of a small stool. As he did so, the gathered people hushed and curved into a semi-circle around him. The only child in the room was pushed to the front so that he could see.

‘It is no secret that ever since the thefts, our lives here have become impossible,’ Alvarr said. ‘Security and magical precautions have flourished like never before. Pendragon Security,’ he spat, ‘are more determined than ever to weed us out.’

The room was quiet, listening carefully and respectfully. Alvarr was the natural leader. He spoke with such confidence and eloquence; there was a fire to his words that roused people’s fighting spirits.  

‘We sent out messages to this sorcerer thief when the robberies first began occurring. As we all know, we did not hear anything. Either they did not get the messages, they do not know how to reply, or they have been caught. After all, the thefts seem to have stopped. There’s always the possibility that they have been taken in by Uther’s men and put over the wall, but if that were the case I do honestly believe that we, and all of Camelot, would have heard something about it by now. Uther does like to boast. No – it is most likely that they stopped because they are as hindered by the alarm systems as any one of us would be. They may still be out there, alone. In any case, this thief is responsible for the current state of things. And if we cannot find them, we must act ourselves.’

‘How?’ a frazzled, middle-aged witch asked. ‘What can we possibly do?’

‘We _become_ the thief,’ Alvarr stated plainly.

The room became unsettled then. People muttered and shuffled with discomfort. Alvarr waited patiently until it lulled.

‘When I was young I chose to stay in this city, chose not to flee to safer lands like most of our kind,’ he spoke with distaste, ‘because I thought there was still a fighting chance. I was prepared to resist. But look at us: barely fifteen-strong, weak and beaten, too scared to leave the shadows. With heavy, invisible chains weighing us down.’ Alvarr touched his wrists together as though they were tied. ‘Anywhere we go we could be in danger; anything we do could condemn us. They haven’t got cold iron on us yet, but they might as well have. We’re trapped.

‘Mordred,’ he said, placing a hand on the shoulder of a pale young boy. ‘You are like a son to me. You know that. And when you were born, I thought we had a chance. Your very existence, your birth _here_ _in Camelot_ ,’ he emphasised, ‘not over that goddamned wall – it was a sign of hope. Of resistance. Yet . . . Miracle or not, it’s one that will only last as long as Gaius does. And now even our fragile stability here is being threatened – and by the thoughtless actions of one of our own kind. So yes, we must become the thief.’

‘How?’ someone asked cautiously.

‘We sacrifice one of our own, for the good of the rest’ Alvarr said.

That caused more outrage.

‘God, Alvarr! There’s barely any of us left already.’

‘Exactly! Our strength is in numbers!’

‘Who will put themselves up like that?!’

Alvarr held his hands up in an attempt to placate them. ‘Please! Please, quiet! I know it’s awful to come to terms with the loss of one of our number. But I willingly put myself forward. I truly believe if they think they’ve caught their thief, then they’ll ease off this manhunt.’

A quiet, weary woman said, ‘He's right.' The room collectively held its breath. 'It’s an awful idea, Alvarr, and I won’t say I’m happy with your decision. But you’re right. We _know_ Uther. He won’t stop until he has his sorcerer, whoever it is.’

Alvarr nodded. ‘Exactly. And I don’t make this decision lightly either. But I have thought this through, trust me. I’ll tell them I work alone, that I know of no others like me. You will all be safe.’

‘But you can’t leave us! You’re our leader,’ Mordred protested, with a look of concern and fear that should only be seen on one much older.

‘And what will you do when they ask for the stolen goods?’ a man named Theo asked. ‘I suppose you’ll just hand over an empty sack?’

‘I’ll tell them that I sold them over Camelot’s borders, in Essetir and Mercia. That I would be stupid to have kept them in Camelot.’ He paused before saying, gently: ‘And as your leader, Mordred, wouldn’t you say that it is my responsibility to protect you all?’

Mordred nodded solemnly, then watched the floor.

‘Does anyone have anything else to say?’ Alvarr asked the room, voice steady, eyes hard.

An elderly woman spoke up. ‘How are you going to do it? Get them to capture you?’

It was one of the questions he’d been waiting for.

‘Oh,’ Alvarr said, smiling wryly. ‘I’ll make a scene. I’ll put on a show. It’ll be like their bloody movies come to life.’

 

*

 

When Gaius had told Merlin that there was more they needed to talk about, Merlin had thought that he meant logistical secret-keeping, magic-denying stuff.

What Merlin really wasn’t expecting to hear was that Gaius had been essentially running a resistance movement in his down-time.

‘WHAT?!’ Merlin exclaimed, his eyebrows shooting upwards. If he had been the one driving, they would have crashed. ‘How long?!’

‘Ever since Hunith was forced over that awful wall.’

‘But why?! How have you not been caught?’

‘I am very, very careful. And I think you already know why.’

Merlin laughed incredulously. ‘And you lectured me about being stupid! Gaius, this is incredible. An entire lifetime of work – you must have done so much!’

‘Hardly a lifetime, m’boy.’

‘For me it is!’ Merlin grinned widely. ‘What do you do? Do you create secret identities? Fight Uther’s men in the middle of the night?’

Gaius smiled fondly at the excitement overflowing from his young apprentice. ‘Nothing quite so dramatic. Mostly I make connections between people who need it, and I recruit people to our cause. I give advice. I keep secrets. When I can, I tamper with the Procedure. That is more difficult to do, because of Uther’s thorough screening – what I was telling you about the other day.’

‘Oh, you’re brilliant,’ Merlin gushed, eyes gleaming. ‘You’d fit right in over the wall.’ Merlin didn’t have to look to know that Gaius’ eyebrow just raised quizzically.

‘Perhaps it’s the sorcerer within me.’

‘Nah,’ Merlin said. ‘It’s not the magic. It’s the lifestyle. Makes us cleverer than them. Quicker. More versatile.’

‘Perhaps you could say that the lifestyle is the magic?’ Gaius suggested.

‘It’s not, though. I know so many people back home who aren’t magic, but they’re just as wily as me or you or any other sorcerer. My mate Will, for instance. He’s not got a spot of magic in him, but he’s the best survivor I know. He taught me! And my mum – you know how strong she is. Nothing can stop her when she gets that determined look in her eye. No Pendragon could match her.’ Merlin’s grin softened as he thought about his family, and he sighed.

‘Fairly put,’ Gaius said. ‘It’s the lifestyle.’

Soon Merlin spoke again. ‘That’s the first time I’ve been able to speak about them for months. Speak about them how they actually are, I mean.’

‘You miss them.’

Merlin nodded. Although Gaius’ had not explicitly asked about his family, he could sense the older man’s curiosity. So he decided to continue speaking about them. He figured he’d already started telling Gaius. But perhaps it was less of a decision and more of an avalanche he could not refuse.

‘There’s five of us. Me, mum, Will, Freya and Lance. Bit of a cobbled-together group, but we fit.’

‘Who are the others?’ Gaius prompted.

He fiddled with his hands, remembering. ‘Mum knew Will’s parents. Me and Will grew up together. He was partly my big brother, but mostly my best friend. When his parents died mum took him in.’

‘Can I ask how they died?’ Gaius asked gently, the doctor in him rising to the surface.

Merlin shook his head. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

Gaius waited for him to continue.

‘We found Freya when I was about twelve. Me and Will weren’t living with mum at that point, we were sort of wild.’ He could see Gaius’ curiosity, so quickly said, ‘I’ll tell you about it one day, not now. We found Freya alone in a place we were going to shelter in. She was sick so we gave her food, and in return she let us stay in the shelter, and that made us friends. And we’ve stuck together since.’ Merlin smiled fondly. ‘Her and Will are _in love._ It’s sickening, but I love them both anyway.’

Gaius parked outside Gwen’s house. Neither of the men moved.

‘We met Lance last. It was me that met him, long before the others did. It was several months after we found Freya. It was in one of the workhouses the Order had set up, and I was very much alone and frightened, until Lance became my bunkmate. Because he’d been there for a while, he took me under his wing. When it was shut down, he joined our – our pack, I guess – and then they all followed along after me when I went to find mum. She took them in, of course. And we lived together ever since.’

Gaius was silent for a while before commenting, ‘Life over the wall sounds very formidable.’

‘Yeah. That’s a way of putting it,’ Merlin laughed humourlessly.

‘Whatever happened, you must have been very young.’

Merlin shrugged. ‘I guess so. But really, it’s just what it was like over there. Though,’ he said, starting to grin, ‘now you’ll know why I thought it was so silly for you to be worried about me in Camelot. Camelot’s _nothing_ compared to home. Or at least that’s my impression of it. But, I mean, if you’re running an underground operation and all that right under Uther’s nose, then that changes things. Camelot might get a bit livelier after all. A bit more to my taste.’ His eyes gleamed with amusement.

‘You must still be careful.’ Gaius said, tutting sternly. Merlin was sure it was at least partially in fondness.

‘I know, I know. Always. But you have to tell me more! If you’re the organiser, then that means that there has to be others with magic, right? I thought you and me were the only ones.’

‘No, there are others. But not many.’

‘What do you all do?’

‘Survive. Find the safe places Uther has not yet reached. See what influence we can have in magical advocacy, and what influential places we can infiltrate. Currently, we’re trying to make links with magical folk who have fled over the borders, to see if they will support us. Most see Camelot as a lost cause, so it’s a long-term project.’

‘Can I help?’ Merlin asked earnestly. ‘I want to be involved.’

‘Well, m’boy, I’m glad you feel that way, because I need you to do something for me,’ Gaius said. ‘From what you’ve told me about your experience over the wall, I think you’ll be just the right person for it.’

Gaius’ voice was sombre as he told Merlin what he needed to do, but there was a spark in his eye.

 

*

_He was with Will. They were on top of the old tower, the one that soared up into the sky, which if you were brave enough to climb up to the very top rewarded you with a view fit for kings. He saw it now, hazy and dawn-smudged, more enormous than anything he could comprehend. An entire city, shadowy and quiet and so familiar, with its tumbledown castle and rickety narrow houses only kept standing with magic, and everywhere the pillars of blue smoke rising up and up and up. For a moment he rose with the smoke, like he was weightless, but in the next moment he was back with Will, who was pointing at the horizon, at the glint of metal. The wall. He heard Will tell him that that was where the sun rose. He was going to say something to Will in return, but the words never came. Instead, the smoke from countless morning fires swirled around him, choking him, and he lost sight of the wall, of the city, of Will . . ._

_He was suffocated by blue-white mist. Soon, he realised that a hand, wrinkled and coarse, was clasped around his. It was the croaking woman. Her skin was cold and clammy; its chill crept up his arm, sickeningly, and he tried to pull away from her but he was so slow, so heavy, that it felt like the air itself was weighing him down. The clamminess made its way into his chest. He shuddered as it touched the glowing, beating warmth that was his magic, which he was sheltering deep within. He stopped breathing. Then the cold retreated and he cried out in pain, because it detached itself without care, grazing him._

_Her croak pierced the air, and then the man appeared: the one with a scar splitting his cheek in two. He came close – too close – and Merlin shrunk down into his shadow, unable to see anything else. His heart was so loud everything swayed in time to it. They grabbed him, quick and rough, someone gripping his arms, pressing him to the ground, there was grit scraping his cheek, and suddenly he realised he was not wearing his shirt anymore, and then there was pain, an intense flame burning his arm . . ._

Merlin sat up, sweating. The sheets were stuck to his skin.

‘Fuck . . .’ he muttered, rubbing his face, getting the sleep out of his eyes. The top of his arm prickled with an echo of the pain. Like pins and needles.

He brushed it aside, and rolled out of bed. It was early, but Gaius had given him a job to do. Merlin was sure it was going to be unpleasant; he got up anyway.

He dressed and then crept down the hall, hoping not to wake Gwen. But in a few minutes she was up too, so they ate breakfast together in the soft morning sunrays. Merlin was quiet. He thought about his dream, and the day he had told Will that they would watch the sunrise across the wall. He could never have imagined how warm it would feel on his skin. 

 

*

 

It was a beautiul morning. The sun was shining; spring had well and truly bloomed. Arthur walked into Pendragon Security with a bounce in his step.

He strode through the foyer, where the glass gleamed, flawless as usual. He waved cheerily at Lilith, the young receptionist. She had a red flower pinned in her hair. It looked good. He scanned his card and smiled at the familiar chirp of the machine. It sounded more approving than normal. In the quiet of the elevator, he whistled the sing-song melody, rising to a floor very near the top of the building.

He went to his desk, and leaned back in his chair. Content, he gazed out the windows that wrapped around the floor, savouring the beauty of Camelot in the golden morning light. As he started on the pile of paperwork, somewhat less beautiful, he settled into the routine of another perfectly normal, durable, standard day. Nothing glamourous. Nothing different.

But that didn’t last long.

It was around lunchtime when he first saw the man. Arthur was on the ground floor getting a coffee in the company’s café. The man was dressed oddly and looked out of place, but Arthur quickly disregarded him, because this _was_ a public space so all sorts were technically allowed in, but mostly because he’d just caught sight of a certain dark-haired figure reading a book in the corner of the room. What were the chances. . .

Arthur was walking towards Merlin before he realised what he was doing.

‘Merlin! What a surprise.’

Merlin jumped slightly, and then rolled his eyes when he saw it was Arthur, saying, ‘Oh. It’s you.’

‘How many times do we have to keep running into each other like this? It’s getting ridiculous,’ Arthur joked, not even really shocked this time. _Maybe it’s the universe trying to tell us something,_ he thought, then tried to push that idea well away.

‘I know,’ Merlin replied, straight-faced. ‘It’s unsettling. It’s hard enough having to look at you with preparation, let alone without it.’

Arthur laughed. ‘Ditto. What are you doing here, anyway?’

‘I work here now. I thought you’d’ve figured that out already.’ He almost sounded offended.

‘Maybe it rings a bell. . .’ Arthur peered over at the book Merlin was reading. ‘Is that what you call work, then?’

‘It’s research . . .’

The way he tried to be all nonchalant was slightly charming, Arthur thought. ‘Right. I didn’t know your sort could read,’ he joked, raising his eyebrows.

Merlin huffed. ‘My sort? What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It was a joke. Someone’s on edge today.’

‘Maybe I’m just not in the mood to speak to a royal prat.’

Arthur laughed. ‘Charming as usual, Merlin. Mind if I sit?’

Merlin sighed deeply. ‘If you must.’

Arthur sat. Merlin returned to his book.

After a few enjoyable moments watching Merlin stare at the page with unmoving eyes (he was clearly unable to concentrate) Arthur asked, ‘What’re you reading?’

‘A book,’ Merlin replied.

‘I can see that,’ Arthur said. ‘Care to specify?’

Merlin closed the book and glared at Arthur, his annoyance clear as anything in his bright blue eyes.

‘It’s about the Procedure.’

‘Intriguing. You work for Gaius now, don’t you? You’re his lab boy, right?’

‘I prefer “assistant,” but yeah. I am.’

‘How do you find it?’

‘It’s fine, I guess . . .’ Merlin looked at him strangely. ‘Arthur, why are you asking me all this?’

Arthur felt something flip in his stomach the moment Merlin said his name. He figured it must have been the yoghurt he’d eaten for breakfast, so he sipped his coffee, hoping to soothe it. He said:

‘I’m just trying to get to know you a bit. We haven’t really talked to each other properly before.’

‘Right,’ Merlin said scornfully.

‘Well? Are you going to ask me any questions in return?’

‘Will you arrest me if I don’t?’

That made Arthur blanch. ‘I see. Fair enough. You don’t want anything to do with me. Understandable.’

Merlin just sat there, watching him carefully.

‘I’ll leave you to your reading,’ Arthur muttered.

As he walked away he mulled over the conversation. Right before he went to leave, Arthur glanced over his shoulder at Merlin, but he’d vanished. Slightly confused, Arthur turned around again, and watched blankly as the strange man he’d seen earlier strode towards him. He had a hard look in his eye and was glaring straight at Arthur.

The café, Arthur realised, was too crowded for him to hear this man. A single human voice should have been drowned out by the cheery music playing, the kitchen’s clashing and banging, and the buzz of conversations. But when the man spoke it was like his voice was the only sound. Everything else was eerily silenced.

‘Arthur Pendragon,’ he said. His voice was soft yet gravelly. ‘I have been searching for you for a long, long time. Because of you and your family, I am the last of my kind in Camelot,’ he spat. ‘It seems only fair that I should avenge them all with your death.’

Arthur was frozen still with fear. He watched in terror as Alvarr raised his hands, screaming a chilling, hollow scream which sent forth a wave of force that pulsed through Arthur, knocking him violently to the ground. He didn’t see it touch the windows but he heard the glass shatter into thousands of tiny pieces, scattering across the floor. And he heard as the sirens began to wail, a hair-raising sound he had never expected to hear outside of the carefully planned drills.

Arthur was winded, and couldn’t get up; there was some other force holding him down. He desperately tried to move as he saw the man’s boots coming towards him. If he didn’t he would die. He could only just hear the man’s unearthly language as he cast an incantation. As he spoke those evil words, Arthur’s throat went dry and hot. He started to choke; burning sand filled his nose, his mouth, his throat, his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. It burned, hurting like nothing had ever hurt before. His eyes streamed until he could no longer see. His heart was on fire. He writhed on the floor, in agony, gulping instinctively, hopelessly; no air came – only the red-hot sand – pouring, clogging. He felt his heart falter, and everything began to darken.

And then it cleared.

He gasped, and his throat seared in agony, but it was cool, clear, fresh air. Everything was ringing.

‘Arthur? Can you hear me?’ a voice asked urgently.

He made a noise, unintelligible.

‘You’re going to be okay, Arthur’ the voice said again. ‘He’s gone. You’re safe.’

Arthur wasn’t really thinking straight, and he still couldn’t see. But he recognised that voice. As he lost consciousness, he was comforted knowing that Merlin was with him. He’d know what to do, Arthur’s stranger from the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting so close to a scene I've wanted to write for like a good year and a half . . . I am ridiculously excited for it!!!  
> Anyway, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Rebel-Gaius is probably like my favourite thing. 
> 
> Also if anyone has any feedback/advice/constructive criticism, I'm super keen to read it! xx


	11. Chapter 11

Arthur stirred in his sheets. His throat was raw, grazed dry and sore. He went to roll over, which soon made it clear that every part of him was unbelievably heavy. Giving up, his eyes flicked open momentarily – he was alone in a dark, unfamiliar room. So quiet. Before he could properly awaken, there was a rush of utter exhaustion; his eyes fluttered shut and he fell back into the deep, sticky sleep.

Murmuring voices woke him the next time, but with his restlessness the sounds quietened, and then there he was timeless, floating in complete silence . . .

He woke again. This time, because his mouth was parched. He didn’t speak, but he must have made some sound because suddenly there was a cool hand on his cheek, and a cup was tilting against his lips, a small trickle of water wetting his mouth – at last – and he drank. _Thank you_ he whispered, but he might have just thought it, he couldn’t tell, he was . . . struggling . . . to stay . . . awake.

Suddenly, it was day. The light filtering through his eyelids was honey-gold. He opened his eyes and saw a large window full to the brim with blue sky, with fluffy white clouds drifting here and there. He watched them sleepily. How long had he been asleep? It wasn’t his own bed, he realised, no, it looked like an infirmary bed. He didn’t remember getting sick. But it hurt to swallow, though. Maybe that had something to do with it. Last he remembered he was in the cafeteria – what had he been doing again? Getting a coffee? That sounded right . . .

‘Thought you were never going to wake up,’ said a voice.

Arthur turned quickly, surprised, to see who was there. He’d thought he was alone, the room had been so quiet. But sitting in the chair in the corner of the room, with a book and a slightly amused expression, was none other than Merlin.

‘What,’ Arthur croaked out, barely managing one word before having to painfully clear his throat, ‘are you doing here? Surely . . . breaking in.’

Merlin laughed at him. ‘I was going to say it’s good to hear your voice, but I guess now I see that even when you can barely speak, you still manage to disapprove of me. Legendary, Arthur.’

Arthur rolled his eyes.

‘But if you must know, I’m here on your father’s orders. I think he said something along the lines of _you are now Arthur’s personal assistant_ or something like that.’

Arthur stared at Merlin in shock. How on earth . . . how long _had_ he been asleep? Arthur thought maybe Merlin was messing with him, but there was a tinge of discomfort behind his light-hearted tone which suggested it wasn’t a joke. His grin didn’t quite touch his eyes. Arthur couldn’t quite understand it. He figured it must just be because of the absurdity of the situation.

Merlin kept on talking fast, grinning. ‘I didn’t get much of a say in it, really, and neither did you because you were quite unconscious. I didn’t even know you needed a personal assistant! But here I am, ordered to watch over your bedside in case you need anything, as if that isn’t a _really strange_ thing to do or anything.’ Merlin came over to Arthur, putting the book he’d been clutching like a shield onto the bedside table with a soft thump. He grabbed a water jug covered in condensation and held it up in offering. ‘Speaking of that – water? You sound like you need it.’

Arthur nodded, and gulped down the glass Merlin gave him – cool and fresh and slightly painful.

‘But yeah. Your father seems to think that saving you from one sorcerer is best rewarded through a job promotion,’ Merlin said, taking back the glass without looking at it, moving automatically, ‘and so here I am. I don’t really know why he considers being _your_ assistant a promotion from being Gaius’s – I mean, what do you even do? I didn’t even get a pay raise –’

‘Sorcerer?’ Arthur croaked, interrupting Merlin’s nonsense, but even as spoke his murky memories reassembled themselves and came into focus. He’d been attacked. ‘Ahh . . .’

‘Why did you think you were in hospital?’ Merlin laughed. ‘But yeah. Sorcerer. You’ve been out for nearly a day and a half. Camelot’s been kind of frenzied with it all – you’re lucky, you know? Whatever he was doing to you, it was close to getting you for good.’

‘’Spect so. Hurts bloody enough.’ Arthur rubbed his throat.

Attacked by a sorcerer. An encounter with magic – at last. It didn’t make him feel as important, or as different, as he expected. He was just sore.

‘It’ll heal fast,’ Merlin said, giving Arthur a strange smile, ‘I’m sure.’

‘Aah,’ Arthur said, tearing his eyes away, ‘throat will. Won’t get over you so quickly.’

Merlin looked at him wide-eyed, mouth slightly agape, until astonishment tumbled into amusement. ‘O-kay, Arthur,’ he laughed. ‘I think you’re a bit delirious.’

Arthur caught up. ‘. . . _Oh._ No, that’s not . . . not what I . . . I meant you being here . . . I mean, the shock – of you – father making you – assistant! Oh god. . .’

Merlin shook his head, chuckling. ‘That’s a relief. For a second there I was worried the sorcerer had addled your brains.’

‘Can that happen?’ Arthur asked, concerned all of a sudden.

Just as quickly, Merlin’s good humour turned cold. ‘ _I_ don’t know! Why do you expect me to know? I was just joking!’

Arthur shrugged. ‘Okay, don’t get all defensive. Stupid to ask. Someone like you obviously wouldn’t know.’

Merlin huffed, and looked to be biting back words. ‘Someone like you obviously doesn’t know either.’

‘I’m not exactly at my best.’ Arthur felt a flicker of annoyance.

‘Right, of course. Sorry, I hadn’t noticed. It’s hard to tell because you seem just as much a thick prat as always,’ Merlin sniped.

‘You . . .’ Arthur struggled for words momentarily, which made him kick himself, ‘you can’t talk to me like that! You’re my assistant now, and that comes with certain expectations. Shouldn’t you have gotten a nurse by now? Are you just going to stand there gormless all day?’

‘Fuck you, Arthur – I’ll talk how I like. It’s not like I wanted this job.’

‘Well, then, I guess it’s your lucky day because I can fire you any time I like, and that’s starting to sound very appealing right now.’

‘Do it, then,’ Merlin dared. ‘Get rid of me.’

‘Fine. I will! It’s done. Now get out of my sight!’

The two men watched each other, seething. Merlin’s jaw was clenched. Arthur was breathing deeply, and he could feel the anger burning red through his skin.

Merlin spun around and opened the door to leave, but his hand fell from the handle and he stepped back in surprise. ‘Oh. I’d been wondering when you were getting back.’

Uther swept into the room, bringing the smell of disinfectant and coffee. ‘Arthur. Good to see you’re awake. How are you, my son?’

“Son” as an endearment was positively joy coming from Uther. He might as well have said _little chicken_ or _darling._ His father had been worried, then.

‘It’s superficial, I think. Bit croaky, bit sore.’

‘Understandable. It was a vicious attack by all definitions. We almost lost you. If it wasn’t for this young man,’ he gestured to Merlin, who looked like he wanted to melt back into the walls, ‘I think we would have.’

‘What do you mean?’ Arthur asked.

‘You didn’t tell him?’ Uther looked to Merlin, surprised.

‘No, I did, he’s only forgotten. He’d just woken up when I explained.’

‘Explained what? What did you do?’

‘This man apprehended the sorcerer, and saved your life,’ Uther said.   

Arthur frowned. ‘What?! Are you sure?’

Uther was taken-aback. He turned to Merlin and asked him to leave the room, who left with a nod, closing the door softly. Arthur’s father sat by his bedside, and leaned in.

‘The situation is not exactly lacking clarity, Arthur. The security footage speaks for itself – he was the one who saved you. But you know him, do you not? You’ll be much more familiar with his character than I could ever be. Do you have any concerns about him?’

Arthur looked into his father’s stormy grey eyes. As a child, that cool, calculated gaze commanded all of Arthur’s secrets to spill out over his tongue, no matter how determined he was to keep them, white lie or black, no matter how angry, upset or sure he was, no matter the punishment. As an adult, those eyes gnawed into his own.

He thought of Merlin huddled in an alleyway. He thought of Merlin, the thief in the sun. He thought of Merlin being dragged to a prison cell, off-record.

He thought of Merlin swearing at him, riling him up, always ungrateful or rude or aggressive.

He looked right into Uther’s eyes and knew exactly what he was going to say.

*

Merlin leaned against the wall, his eyes heavy, his stomach rumbling. He hadn’t been home since the attack, and apart from stolen naps in that uncomfortable chair, he hadn’t slept. The Pendragons definitely expected a . . . strong . . . work ethic from their employees.

There was a television out in this waiting room, or corridor, or whatever it was. It was one of those strange in-between places that were so abundant in Camelot. A luxury of space. A space for moving through, never staying for long, where all you felt was vague discomfort if you found yourself there alone and waiting.

He tried to focus on the TV. He wasn’t surprised that it was still about the attack. A woman was analysing the video footage, with red circles (like hoops of fire, Merlin thought, as his eyes went out of focus momentarily) spotlighting the important figures.

‘– where you can see the sorcerer as he chooses his target, and the speed with which he unleashes his destructive spell, knocking those closest patrons to the floor, and shattering all of the café’s windows.’

And the dark, fuzzy figure that was Arthur fell to the floor, lost by the camera, blocked by a table. And then Merlin saw himself dart in, with a red circle of his own, Camelot’s own “Civilian Hero” – as they were calling him in newspapers – pushing the sorcerer to the ground, then looking to Arthur, by a stroke of luck facing away from the camera, so they do not catch the moment he whispers _ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare_ under the wail of the sirens, trying to ward off the damage before it is too late. They also don’t pick up the horrible sound of Arthur’s breath rushing back into his body, a sound which had been circling round and round Merlin’s mind since yesterday morning. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t been caught. He’d done magic. In the headquarters of Pendragon Security itself. If it didn’t terrify him as much as it did, he was sure he’d be laughing out of the sheer improbability of it.

But instead his throat and lungs ached in a shadow of what Arthur was undoubtedly feeling, and he was bone tired – a healing spell will do that to you. He hadn’t even paused to consider the consequences when he cast the spell; despite the moments when he thoroughly hated the man, he didn’t want Arthur dead. And not at the hands of a sorcerer.

The TV cut to a picture of the man himself, the name _Alvarr Mawle_ flashing at the bottom of the screen. He looked at the mugshot with pity and sadness. Gaius had told him that there was going to be some destruction, some public magic, something that would set off the alarms. He’d told Merlin that he should be prepared to wait in that café for Alvarr, because that was where he was going to strike, and that Merlin would know when he needed to intervene. Gaius was deeply concerned that whatever Alvarr was planning was going to be bad, worse than anything he could defend or prevent, but Merlin, he believed, had the wits and experience necessary to keep it contained, so Merlin had settled in that café in the morning, discreet in the corner, waiting for something big.

Waiting for Arthur. After all, that was essentially what he’d been doing. He’d been annoyed that Arthur was there because he was distracting him from his watch, never once considering that it was Arthur who was in danger.

Merlin needed to sleep. To comprehend everything. He wondered how Gwen was. Arthur was on a maximum-security ward; no one was allowed to visit yet. Except for Morgana, she was family. She’d been in, it had been nice to have someone to talk to. The nurses didn’t really talk.

God knows how Merlin was allowed to be there. Arthur’s bloody _personal assistant._ He still didn’t understand how that had happened. One minute, he was being handed a cup of tea by a helper, as he stood around in shock with the other witnesses, and the next he was following a messenger up to Pendragon Security’s health clinic, a coil of dread in his stomach, knowing that he was about to meet Uther bloody Pendragon. He’d been taken through to Arthur’s ward, a big, airy room full of late afternoon sunlight. The first thing he’d seen was Arthur, sleeping, his arm connected to a machine that tracked his pulse with intermittent beeps. And then Uther himself, waiting for Merlin, pacing back and forth in front of the big window.

When he saw them at the door, Uther nodded at the messenger, saying, ‘That will be all.’

Once the messenger left, Merlin panicked silently, knowing exactly what Nimueh would do alone in the room with two Pendragons.

‘So. You’re Merlin.’ Uther gazed at him with a keen, discerning eye.

Merlin nodded once, then asked, ‘How is he?’ Arthur was pale.

‘Arthur’s injuries were minor, considering what may have happened. He will be fine. But what you did. . .’ Uther paused, rubbing his forehead. ‘They tell me you are the man that saved my son. Saved my boy. I must commend you for your bravery.’

Merlin made a placating noise. ‘Anyone would have done it were they in my place.’

‘Perhaps,’ Uther said, facing the window. Merlin felt safer away from his gaze. ‘You work for Gaius, do you not?’

‘Yes, I do. He hired me about a month ago.’

‘And you are from Essetir?’

‘Yes, sir. Ealdor specifically.’

Uther was silent, then he said abruptly, ‘I’ve seen the footage. You’re a quick thinker. You act fast. Not many people do.’

Merlin didn’t know what to say. He shuffled uncomfortably.

‘Importantly, you aided in the apprehension of a powerfully dangerous sorcerer. That does not go unrewarded in my Camelot. Is there anything you want? Anything I can do for you?’

‘Oh, no sir, not at all. I’m just glad I did what I could.’

‘You’re humble too,’ Uther said, turning to face him. ‘We need people like you. They tell me you know Arthur. It could work.’

It was almost like he was talking to himself, Merlin thought.

And then he’d said it: ‘You can be his personal assistant.’

It still hadn’t really sunk in.

Uther’d asked him to stay in to watch Arthur while he was busy dealing with the press, with security, probably with Alvarr himself. Maybe that was why he made him Arthur’s PA on a whim – ease of organisation. Perhaps in stopping Alvarr, he’d proven himself an unshakeable ally, instantly trustable.

Was it so unthinkable for a sorcerer to fight another sorcerer in Camelot or something?

Merlin laughed bitterly under his breath at the thought of it. A _good_ sorcerer. Who would’ve known they could be as complex as any other person.

Merlin was fed up. Right now, in that room, Arthur was almost definitely telling Uther all about him, how he’d stolen from Uther’s poor, poor son, and been in prison ( _forcing_ Arthur to keep it off record!), corrupting Arthur’s friends, even _swearing_ at Arthur in anger (how dare he?) rather than treating him as the perfect prince that he absolutely was.

He was Arthur’s bloody personal assistant.

Arthur’s personal assistant was a sorcerer whose only reason for being in Camelot was to stop people like Arthur Pendragon.

He was a god-damn sorcerer, cowering in a hallway-corridor-waiting-room while they discussed his fate.

He _hated_ Arthur. Ungrateful, rude, aggressive prick.

He didn’t know how to be a PA. Guess he wouldn’t have to anyway. Maybe Gaius would take him back . . . maybe he should just go back altogether. Leave Camelot. Let Nimueh do whatever she wants with her failed puppet.

Only a few minutes had passed, but his mind was going a million miles an hour.

The door slid open. Uther called him in. And Merlin obeyed, obedient puppet every way he turned.

*

It was dark by the time he got home. He slouched up the path to Gwen’s door, light spilling out from the windows, lighting his footsteps. He smelt onions frying.

‘Merlin!’ she exclaimed as he entered, dropping her wooden spoon. ‘Oh my god, you’re back!’

Suddenly he was wrapped up in her arms. Gwen gave good hugs, he thought.

‘How are you? What’s been happening? I’ve been so worried! How’s Arthur? I can’t believe you were there, that you saved him, that you stopped the sorcerer! You’re so brave, oh my god, you must have been terrified! You must be so tired, too, it’s been nearly two whole days, here, sit down, have some of this,’ she handed him a bowl of curry, ‘you’re surely starving as well, you look kind of pale – but then you always do. Oh, god, I don’t mean that in a bad way, I’m sorry. I need to stop talking. . .’

Merlin smiled. ‘Thanks, Gwen,’ he said softly. ‘Missed you.’  

*

‘Well, so then we had this argument, because it’s me and Arthur, and you know what happens when we’re in the same room together, we just always end up snapping at each other. And so he threatened to fire me, and I said he should just get it over and done with, and he said all dramatic – _it’s done –_ and told me to get out, so I went to leave and Uther was just _there_ at the door, it was a bit scary, him just jumping out of the shadows. I don’t think he heard anything, but then after he’d checked on Arthur, Arthur said something that made it sound like I was _super suspicious_ , ‘cos he hates me and all, and he couldn’t believe that it was me that actually saved him. And so I had to leave the room so Uther could investigate – yeah, he took it that seriously – and I honestly thought that Arthur was telling him that I was a petty criminal or whatever and should be in prison, or at least far from Pendragon Security, but then when I came back in Arthur’s like, “sorry for the misunderstanding, I guess I was just a bit shocked that someone as wimpy as you could be so brave. Good on you, thanks,” and so long story short, I am _still_ Arthur’s bloody personal assistant, he _lied_ for me to his father, and – worst of all! – I can’t be mad at him anymore because he’s gone and been unpredictable again, and done something actually decent.’

Merlin let out a deep sigh, looking at Morgana and Gwen for sympathy.

It was the next day, and they were wrapped up with tea and blankets, lost in a pile of cushions. For most of the story, Gwen had nibbled on a gingernut thoughtfully, while Morgana snickered into her cup. Merlin had told it from the beginning, skipping over the _I was there on purpose because Gaius asked_ bits.

‘Not that I want to be his assistant. But he did the honourable thing.’

‘Sounds like Arthur,’ Morgana said. ‘I wish I’d been there. It would’ve been utterly hilarious. Also he’s never been able to lie to Uther,’ she gave him a teasing smile, ‘so I think you’ve inspired something great in him, Merlin.’

Merlin pretended to gag.

‘I don’t think he hates you,’ Gwen said.

Morgana laughed, ‘Oh my god, Gwen, have you been in the same room with them?’

‘He hates me. I’m sure of it.’

‘Well, do you hate him?’ Gwen asked.

‘I can’t now, can I? Or maybe I can, for being too honourable.’

‘It was pretty honourable of you to save his life, and watch over his bedside for nearly 30 hours, too. Maybe he felt he had to even it out. Or maybe that made him feel that he couldn’t hate you. So maybe he doesn’t hate you,’ Gwen raised one eyebrow, side-eyeing Merlin.

‘Provocative, Gwen,’ Morgana teased.

Merlin thought. ‘If that’s the case, can I hate him for not hating me?’

‘I feel like if you have to ask that, you probably don’t hate him.’

Merlin looked for words. ‘Oh, don’t look so smug, Gwen.’ 

‘Don’t get me wrong, I still think you are absolutely allowed to feel a bit iffy towards him for like putting you in prison and all that. Manhandling you. Getting on your nerves, etcetera. But I think you can settle for amiable acquaintance, right?’

‘Make some room for subtle dislike,’ Morgana added.

Gwen laughed incredulously. ‘That’s not helping.’

Morgana disagreed. ‘You’re not the one who’ll have to work with him. He drives everyone mad. I don’t envy you, Merlin. Outright hate will take a lot of effort. Dislike, not so much. It makes it more fun, too.’ 

‘True. And less awkward at gatherings when you’re both there, if you’re fighting every other second,’ Gwen said.

‘I’ll try not to hate him then.’

‘Great,’ Gwen smiled, her good-deed done for the day. ‘Speaking of, do you reckon you’re rested enough to go to drinks tonight? It’s at yours again, right, Morgana?’

‘Yeah. God. I don’t know if I want to go.’

‘Why not?’ Merlin asked.

Morgana shook her head. ‘Don’t worry about me.’

‘No, this is about politics again, isn’t it?’ Gwen asked. ‘I can just ask everyone to steer away from that if that’ll make you feel better.’

‘Gwen-darling, if they’re drinking it’s inevitable it’ll go down that track. They lose their filters on a normal night – with an attack like that happening only a few days ago, and to Arthur, it’ll be awful. I won’t be able to go.’

‘What’re you worried they’ll say?’ Merlin asked.

She looked at him warily. ‘It’ll be like the movie night, but worse. They always gang up on me for the work I do with pro-magic causes. They don’t understand it.’

‘I’ll get them to promise not to,’ Gwen said. ‘Please come, Morgana. I don’t want something like this to get in the way of friendship.’

‘You’re completely misunderstanding how this works, Gwen. It’s exactly the sort of thing that gets in the way. Incompatible.’

Gwen was about to respond, but Merlin stopped her.

‘You should come,’ Merlin said quietly. ‘If you don’t, you’re letting them win. Don’t be afraid to show your face.’

Morgana looked at him solemnly, fidgeting with her hands, silent for a while. ‘I think you’re right. I’ll come.’

‘Yay!’ Gwen beamed, and wrapped Morgana up in a hug.

*

As the three of them wandered down to the manor in the dusk light, they could already hear music thumping from the lowest level.

‘They’re already there?’ Merlin asked.

‘Everyone just lets themselves in, I swear. They might as well always live there, raiding our liquor cabinet. As the founders of Pendragon Security, we like our home to be very unsecure,’ Morgana boasted. 

Gwen whispered to him, ‘The doorman knows them and lets them in.’

Gwaine, Percy, Vivian and Elena were already there, and Gwaine had indeed broken into the bar.

‘Look! The man of the hour!’ Gwaine boomed as they went inside. ‘The hero of the city! The saviour of us all!’ He forced a shot glass into Merlin’s hand, and slung an arm over his shoulder. ‘God am I glad to know you, Merlin!’

All of a sudden, Vivian and Elena were on his other side, Vivian clutching his arm tightly. ‘I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw it was you on the TV,’ she said. Merlin didn’t think Vivian had ever spoken more than one word to him before now. ‘You were so, so brave. Poor Arthur, but also, lucky Arthur!’

‘It was so impressive, Merlin. You have to tell us all about it,’ Elena added chirpily.

They were steering him towards Percival, who patted the seat next to him, nodding eagerly in agreement.

It didn’t take long for him to get thoroughly sick of going over the story again, and again, for every new person that arrived. They were all desperate to hear it from him, the anti-magic hero, the story of how he personally took down the thief that had haunted Camelot for all these months.

‘It had to be him, right? The thief?’ Elyan said.

‘For sure!’

‘I can’t believe someone so obviously suspicious-looking like the guy got away with those thefts, it’s ridiculous,’ said Leon. ‘Makes me doubt our training procedures.’

‘What do you think, Merlin? When you fought him, did he seem like a thief?’

‘I mean, I didn’t fight him . . .’

‘No, you must have known,’ Vivian slurred at him, leaning on his shoulder. ‘You’re a thief too, right?’ she said, bursting into a fit of giggles. ‘You must’ve known!’

‘That’s not nice, Viv,’ Elena whispered loudly.

Gwaine kept trying to ply him with more shots, but Merlin was worried that Arthur would turn up out of the blue despite being in hospital, and then Merlin would do something stupid and make Arthur hate him again, and Gwen would be disappointed. He’d had enough, he kept trying to tell Gwaine, which was true, but Gwaine kept insisting that this was a celebration of his success, kept trying to sneak a glass into Merlin’s hand. Trying to dissuade him was like trying to swat a fly away, Merlin thought.

It was getting late when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Morgana was crouching behind him, her hair falling into her face.

‘I’m going to head off now,’ she said into his ear. ‘I can’t find Gwen – let her know I said goodbye, will you?’

‘Yeah, course,’ Merlin replied. ‘You okay?’

She nodded quickly, placatingly, but her expression was wary. She flashed a glance over his shoulder, to the rowdy group, then back at Merlin quicker than lighting.

Just as she was getting up to leave, Vivian noticed her. ‘Oi, Morgana. Are you running off already?’

Immediately, the conversation around them died and, although no one had turned it down, the music filling the room became muffled, dreamlike.

‘I’m tired,’ Morgana said plainly. ‘It’s been a rough few days.’ 

Vivian laughed cruelly. ‘Oh, I’m sure. You must feel so conflicted. You know what? I’m surprised you could even show your face here at all.’ Morgana tensed as Vivian spun herself to face Morgana properly. ‘If it was my brother who was nearly killed, I don’t think I could bear the shame of supporting the murderers who did it.’

That sparked a glint of fury in Morgana’s eye. ‘How dare you?’ she said, quietly dangerous. ‘I _do not_ support murder of any kind, Viv. Don’t simplify this situation–’

‘Look!’ Vivian crowed. ‘The bitch is trying to defend herself!’ She looked to her friends, pleased by the nods of agreement she saw.

‘I don’t want to get involved,’ Elyan said, ‘but it’s downright wrong, Morgana, to put them before your own family. If it was Gwen . . .’

‘That’s not –’ Morgana started saying, before Gwaine interrupted her, his tone incredulous.

‘Surely you can’t still actively support sorcerers? I thought you would’ve dropped that delusion as soon as Arthur was attacked. He’s your brother! It could’ve been any of us. It still could!’

‘Exactly,’ Vivian said. ‘We’re the ones they’re going to target, we’re the ones they are literally trying to kill, and here you are, choosing them over us.’

‘I’m not choosing them–’

‘Oh?’ Leon interrupted. ‘You’ve given up the pro-magic ideology then?’

Morgan shook her head at him, hopeless. ‘Not you too, Leon, please . . .’

‘Have you?!’ Elena demanded.

Morgana stood there, shaking her head, unable to pronounce the “No, I haven’t” that everyone knew she was going to say.

‘Jesus,’ Percy said.

Right then, Gwen wandered back into the room from wherever she’d been, and when met with the pained atmosphere she asked, ‘What’s going on?’

‘Your dear Morgana here has chosen her side,’ Elyan said.

‘And in doing so she’s willingly betraying all of us, all of _our_ kind,’ Vivian added. ‘The way I see it, you actually want to be one of them, Morgana. It’s disgusting.’

Still, Morgana shook her head helplessly, distraught. Merlin saw that she was trying not to cry.

‘Guys, drop it. Leave her alone,’ Gwen snapped. ‘They’re drunk, Morgana. They don’t know what they’re saying.’

Gwaine disagreed. ‘We know what we’re saying, thank you very much. And I think you should reconsider why exactly you’re friends with this person, Gwen.’

Gwen looked at him in disgust. ‘Oh my god! She’s your friend too!’

That started an onslaught of insults.

‘Not if she chooses monsters over us.’

‘I bet you wanted to see Arthur die.’

‘You’re just as bad as they are, you know. There’s barely any difference between you.’

‘Turns out the bitch is actually just a witch.’

Gwaine grabbed Merlin’s shoulders. ‘We’ve got the anti-magic hero right here. Tell him to his face, hey? Tell him you wish he’d watched Arthur die for the fucking freedom of the sorcerers, rather than saving an innocent man’s life. ‘Cos he’s the figure that represents us all, and you’re the figure that represents them, and I don’t understand how you can even _talk_ to Merlin here, and still believe what you do.’

‘Leave me out of this,’ Merlin muttered.

‘No, hey,’ Vivian piped up, grabbing Merlin’s hand, squeezing it tightly. ‘It’s okay, Merlin, we all support you. Don’t let her make you feel guilty for your views.’

‘Get off me,’ Merlin said, shaking Gwaine and Vivian off, feeling terribly claustrophobic all of a sudden. ‘Don’t use me as your damn figurehead. None of you are listening to her, she never said anything about wanting this to happen to Arthur, to anyone.’

Morgana mouthed a near-invisible _thank you._

‘No, you’re not listening to us,’ Leon said, almost gently. ‘I know you didn’t want Arthur to get hurt, Morgana. And I know you mean good, I know you. But being pro-magic means you envision a future where monsters like that man Alvarr are free to commit whatever evil they choose.’

Like the bursting banks of a river, the words poured out from Morgana. ‘But can’t you see that comes from a place of desperation? That the idea they’re all monsters is a misunderstanding that comes from years of misrepresentation and scapegoating and, and everything! Everything is against them! Our entire world hates people like them! What we do to them is so, so much worse than what they have ever done to us. I don’t want a world where they’re free to kill or destroy or whatever it is that you think they’ll do, I just want a world where everyone is allowed to _exist_ and where there’s no more unnecessary hatred! Is that so hard to understand?’

‘Is it so hard to understand that they are not like us, and never will be?’ Leon replied softly.

Morgana steadied herself, breathing shallowly, once again looking like she was going to cry.

‘So you’re saying you think they get treated badly?!’ Elyan said. ‘It’s not like they get the death penalty. They just get put over the wall. They’re allowed to run their own lives, free as anything. For all we know, they’re living lives of luxury over there, laughing at us.’

Merlin tried not to listen.

‘Exactly, Elyan! They’ve got it easy – if we wanted to really teach them all a proper lesson, then we should bring in the death penalty,’ Vivian argued. ‘I know that I’ll only feel safe if they’re all dead. Or far, far away from here – not close like they are behind the wall, a fucking forty-five minute drive away.’

‘Too true,’ Elyan said.

‘They’re better off dead. As are the traitors who support them,’ Vivian said, her jaw tense and extended, her cheeks flushed with passion. Elyan was nodding in agreement.

Leon looked at Vivian and Elyan uncomfortably, then at Morgana, her skin pale as a sheet. ‘I think maybe you should drop it, Viv. That took it a bit too far.’

‘Whatever. Defend her if you like. I don’t care.’

‘I don’t need you to stand up for me, Leon,’ Morgana spat. ‘I’m not going to listen to another word from any of you. You’re all awful, awful . . .’ Her voice cracked. Then she left, escaping into the moonlight, leaving only silence in her wake. The music had stopped.

Gwen was furious. ‘I can’t believe it. I can’t, you’re all so . . . that was so, so horrible. She’s our _friend._ ’

‘She deserved it,’ Elyan told his sister seriously.

‘Fuck you all,’ Gwen swore, her eyes starting to brim with tears. She moved towards the door, to follow after Morgana.

Merlin couldn’t remember how to move his limbs. He’d been frozen to his seat since he’d shoved Gwaine and Vivian, and now he started to shiver. Slowly he got up, ignoring whoever was speaking to him, and went over to Gwen, touching her arm to get her attention.

‘Let me go,’ he said softly.

Gwen looked at him in confusion.

‘I was the one who convinced her to come,’ he continued. ‘I want to apologise to her. Alone, please.’

Gwen absently rubbed the tears from her cheeks. ‘Okay.’

As he left someone jeered, ‘Don’t let your guard down, Merlin – she might bewitch you!’

The cruel laughter of the others followed Merlin as he entered the garden. Morgana was nowhere in sight, so he walked down one of the estate’s winding paths, lined with silver birch trees and lavender, and slowly the sound from the house disappeared altogether. All he could hear was his footsteps falling softly amongst the rustling of leaves. The sky was dark, velvety and scattered with stars; it was a shroud around him, heavy and cape-like. He was worried about Morgana. He didn’t really know what it was that she had done to bear the brunt of so much anger and hatred.

As he rounded the corner, he saw her. She was sitting on the edge of a fountain, her pants rolled up and her feet swirling the water. Merlin made sure his footsteps fell heavily, not wanting to startle her. She started speaking even before he sat down next to her.

‘How can they possibly be so cruel?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said.

‘It’s the sort of cruelty that you always know exists, but you never imagine that people you actually know will think and talk like that. I couldn’t believe some of the things they were saying. They’re supposed to be my friends, but friends aren’t supposed to be like that, are they?’ She looked up at him, tear tracks silver on her skin. ‘How can they not see how horrible it is? How can they just get away with it? . . . Oh Merlin,’ she sniffed, ‘I don’t think I can bear it any longer. I can’t listen to them. It feels like I’ve spent my whole life arguing with people because of it. Father, Arthur, and now them. And I just can’t do it anymore. Especially not when everyone just sits there talking about killing them all. . . like they aren’t even people.’

‘I know. I know exactly what you mean. There’s that at least. You’re not the only one.’ He put his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned against him.

‘Yeah. That’s true. I can’t believe it’s taken this long to find out that you’re not completely anti-magic. It’s not very common, funnily enough.’

‘I understand why, after seeing what they just did to you.’

‘I hate it. Sometimes I wish I was able to let myself be anti-magic. It’d be a lot easier.’ She sniffed again. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t let myself get like this.’

‘Don’t apologise. If anything, you should be proud. God, who would have ever imagined that the daughter of Uther Pendragon could be such a total opposite of the tosser himself?’

She laughed, albeit teary.

A question was burning the tip of Merlin’s tongue. ‘Morgana . . . You don’t mind if I ask you something personal?’

‘Go ahead,’ she said, turning to face him.

‘Why d’you think so differently to your father and Arthur?’

He instantly regretted asking his question. Morgana’s eyes widened, and she quickly turned away, covering her mouth with one hand. Her tears became full, heart-wrenching sobs.

‘Oh no, Morgana, I’m sorry. I didn’t . . . you don’t have to answer that at all.’ Her extreme reaction was startling.

‘No –’ she said a few long moments later, trying to compose herself. ‘I will. It’s just . . . I – I don’t . . . I can’t, I –’

Merlin waited for her words to arrive.

She turned back to him, tears spilling down her cheek with every blink of her eyes. ‘Oh, Merlin,’ she took a shaky breath – and he felt his own emotions tighten in his chest at the desperation in her voice. ‘I . . . I have dreams.’

She said the last word hushed, as if they were in a crowded, quiet room full of listening ears, as if having dreams wasn’t an entirely normal occurrence, as if the word itself was outlawed.

Merlin watched Morgana, her face pale against the darkness. Her eyes were wide with fear and disbelief as her mind caught up with what she had just said. And she was gazing directly into his own eyes, searching desperately for his judgement, his ruling, his reaction. He knew what was implicated by that simple statement. Dreams – in the most magical, unusual sense of the word – were inextricably linked to magic. Particularly in those with no way to channel their natural gift. Undoubtedly Morgana knew their significance. He felt an aching sympathy for her, for everything she must have been through, from the inner torment, to the constant fear that must seethe beneath every waking moment, fuelled by a lack of understanding and lack of control. Every dream potentially holding the future, heralding the presence of magic – magic which could unleash itself at any time, magic that could only bring her ruin in Camelot. And all the time, nowhere to go, no-one to seek, no way to cope. Soon enough all of the magic inside her would have boiled over, uncontrollable, or it would have clogged her up, and she would have sunken into madness, reality no longer an option.

He wished he had known sooner.

‘What kind of dreams?’ He was trying to gently prod the information out of her, to get it to come from her naturally, but maybe his tone was too stern or interrogational. Alarm flashed across her face, and he could see her trust retreating. They were in dangerous waters, after all. Misplaced trust could be devastating.

Her reply was as elusive as he expected. ‘Oh . . . Just nightmares, really. I’m sorry, I’ve been overreacting. It’s nothing really.’

‘Morgana. You can trust me,’ he said softly.

She sat still. ‘They are nightmares. But . . . I – Sometimes . . . sometimes I see what hasn’t happened yet.’

‘You see the future?’

She nodded, and then her breaths got shaky, and her eyes welled up again. ‘Merlin . . . I think . . . I think it’s magic.’ Another whispered word, like poison to the air.

‘So do I.’

Morgana fell quiet and leaned forward, dropping her head into her hands – her secret unburdened. The evening, too, fell still; the burbling of the fountain and the rustling of leaves becoming all the more distant. They did not speak for a few minutes.

Then: ‘What do I do?’

A plea.

He chose his words carefully. ‘It’s up to you where you go from here. I can’t tell you what the right way is to go about things. But I promise I will help you in whatever you choose to do, be that keeping it a secret or learning to control it or anything else.’

‘You would do that?’

‘Of course. You helped me, didn’t you?’

‘Aren’t you scared? Of me?’ Her voice was impossibly quiet.

‘No. I know you, Morgana. Magic doesn’t change that.’

‘Arthur would be. Leon would be, and Gwaine, and Elyan, and Gwen. Maybe they’re sensible. Maybe I am dangerous. Maybe I shouldn’t have ever told you anything at all.’

‘Magic isn’t scary, though.’

‘It scares me.’

‘Because you don’t understand it? Or because the repercussions of being magic in Camelot are scary?’

‘Is there a difference?’

‘Definitely.’

‘I think I’m scared of both, then.’

‘That’s understandable.’

She was calmer now. They were speaking quietly, still afraid to be overheard.

‘But I still don’t know why you aren’t scared. What I’ve told you – it could mean your life as you know it is on the line. This isn’t just a harmless debate about magic. It’s real. I need to make sure you realise that, Merlin. This isn’t some over-exaggerated cinema scene. This is my life and, now that I’ve told you, it’s yours too.’

‘I know.’ Merlin paused, and then decided to go with it. ‘And my offer of help still stands.’

‘Right.’

‘What do you want to do?’

‘I . . . well, I think that mainly I don’t want to live in fear. Though I know there’s no way to avoid that, really, in Camelot. But I could lessen it, don’t you think, if I could learn to control the . . . magic.’

‘You want to learn it?’ Excited, he said this a little too loud, and she flinched. He lowered his voice. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s alright, I don’t think they would have heard. And I don’t want to learn it, as such, I just want to learn to control it. So that there’s no risk of . . . it . . . happening of its own accord.’

‘You’ll have to learn basic stuff to be able to control it,’ he told her eagerly. ‘Otherwise it’ll be just as unstable as ever. It needs to get out, you see. That’s why it happens unexpectedly in the first place.’

‘I see.’ She nodded at him for a moment, before doubt flickered across her features. ‘How on earth do you know this?’

He could tell her. Right now. So easily. A slip of the tongue; a mutual secret shared over the swirling waters of a marble fountain; a confidante.

‘I have to show you something,’ he told her, his gaze intense.

‘What?’

‘You’ll see.’ He stood up and stretched, then offered Morgana his hand. She took it and stood beside him.

‘Will you answer my question?’ she demanded.

Merlin looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I suppose I will.’ He breathed deeply. ‘I guess, what I really should tell you is that I know all this because, well, I have magic too.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand another chapter is done!
> 
> I will always believe that the show-writers missed the biggest and best opportunity in having Morgana struggle with her magic while Merlin just looked on being like 'soz Morgz no can do'. . . so here's my attempt at remedying that. (I actually love this scene between them so much, it was one of the first things I wrote for this fic, both of these characters are so precious to me).
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!! <3


	12. Chapter 12

They walked down the street to Morgana’s car, their breath coming quickly from the speed of their pace.

Morgana hung off Merlin’s arm, trying to slow him down. Her eyes were wide and bright in the yellow light streaming down upon them from the streetlights; they looked exactly like they would if they were brimming with magic. Merlin smiled, wondering if she knew that.

‘Merlin! Will you slow down?!’ Morgana whispered urgently. ‘Where are we going?’

‘You’ll see.’ He grinned at her. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll need to drive us there, though.’

‘Okay,’ she agreed instantly. Then he saw a flash of hesitation. ‘So, when you say you have _it_. . . does that mean you actually know how to . . . well, you know . . . use it? Or do you just know about it?’

‘I’m a fully competent and capable sorcerer, if that’s what you mean,’ he assured her.

‘Shh!’ She put a finger to her lips and stole a nervous glance around the street. ‘God, Merlin, anyone could be listening!’

He shook his head, grinning again. ‘Doubt it. There’s no one about.’

‘Still, please, try to be quiet. It terrifies me a bit to hear you say that. Years of conditioning, I suppose.’

Merlin’s pace let up once they reached the car. He looked at her for a moment, the night air perfectly still and quiet, and he saw the fear that drew her eyebrows together, saw the dark curtain of hair fallen askew and the frightened face of the woman hiding behind it. Suddenly he was filled with an immense sadness. His grin faded. He took her hand gently into his own.

‘You don’t have anything to fear from me, Morgana. You don’t have anything to fear from magic either.’

She stared at him. A ghost of wind brushed the hair off her face, and as though this had woken her, she held herself tall again, nodding once with a sense of solemn importance.

‘Let’s go, then,’ she said.

In the car, Morgana kept sending furtive glances his way. They drove in silence for about five minutes, until her curiosity became too much to bear, and the questions began to spill.

‘So . . . Do you know spells and stuff like that?’ Morgana asked quietly.

A flicker of a smile brushed Merlin’s lips. ‘Yeah.’

‘Oh,’ her voice was small. ‘Like what?’

‘Well, lots of things. Some stuff is just like second nature to me, wouldn’t have to think about it more than blinking, and some is more complex. It’s just like anything else, I guess.’

‘You find it easy? To control, I mean?’

‘Yeah. And like I said, if you’ll let me I’ll show you how to control it properly too. And then it’ll be second nature for you as well.’

‘I think I might like that,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Who taught you?’

‘Initially - no one. I was doing magic before I could talk. But –’

‘What?!’ Morgana interrupted. ‘Surely . . . that’s impossible!’

‘It’s unusual. But not impossible.’

‘And you weren’t caught?’

‘Well . . . no,’ Merlin said. ‘But –’

‘Oh, of course! You’re from Essetir. They’re less rigorous about magic there, aren’t they? No test. I suppose that makes sense. But still, the social persecution if you’d been found out would have been terrible.’

‘Well . . .’

‘Did your parents know?’

‘Yeah. My mum did. She never discouraged me. But then she’s not Uther.’

‘Not your father?’

Merlin hesitated. ‘I don’t know my father. In any case, he’s who I got the magic from.’

They were sitting at a traffic light, so Morgana gave his hand a squeeze. ‘I guess that’s the same for me. Not many people know this, but Ygraine – that’s Arthur’s mother – wasn’t mine. And I’ve not a clue who mine is, but I doubt I got the magic from Uther. I often wonder what she was like. I’ve cursed her memory as well, because she cursed me with _this._ ’ Morgana gestured at herself with scorn. ‘There were times where I thought she might have been innocent, and that it was because of my magic that Uther made her disappear, that I was the cause of everything, tainted by magic. But it made me feel less alone to blame her, too.’

‘I understand,’ Merlin said softly. ‘I understand what it means to blame yourself for something you can’t control. But it’s not a curse. I’m sorry Morgana, but I’m going to keep on saying that until it becomes possible for you to see it that way.’

She thought to herself quietly for a while, before saying, ‘I just don’t see how you can be so confident about . . . it . . . if you weren’t taught. Surely you needed someone to show you how it could be good? Surely you weren’t just some prodigy from the very first?’

‘Well, no, I’m not. That’s what I was trying to say before. Magic came naturally to me in its most basic forms – moving stuff, breaking stuff, fire and water play, those sorts of things. Magic will always express itself when it is present, and there’s little you can do to stop it from coming out unless you want to go insane. I just happened to know how to naturally control it, really early on. But the dreams you say you have, they’re the same thing – they’re your magic expressing itself in the way that’s most natural to you. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a talent for prophesy or divination – things like palm readings and stories in the stars. Mine’s strongest when it’s physical, elemental magic. But that doesn’t mean I can’t try other sorts. I’ll just be pretty shit at it. So for that stuff, it helps if you can be taught. And I was, through other mentors or books.’

Morgana paused. ‘So . . . you know others with magic?’

‘I do.’

‘Is that where you’re taking me?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am. But I don’t think you should come with me. It’ll be too dangerous, and because you’re untrained I don’t want to risk it. And I’m not going there for the people. I’m going to get you a book.’

‘A magic book?! In Camelot?’ she didn’t take her eyes off the road, but she was wide-eyed and slightly frenzied. ‘And sorcerers too?’

‘More or less,’ he shrugged.

‘What does that mean?!’ she exclaimed. ‘God, Merlin, I have too many questions and every time I ask you something you leave me with more! I don’t understand. How have they not been caught?’

‘Turn here,’ he said, ignoring her question. ‘You’ll want the book, trust me.’

‘Where are we going? I want to come with you the whole way, alright? I don’t care if it’s dangerous. I’m a fucking sorcerer, Merlin, and so are you, and we’re actually planning on practising magic, so to hell with safety. How much danger can we be in that we’re not already facing?’ she demanded.

‘We’re nearly there – next left. Look, Morgana, you’re not coming with me. I’m not going to put you in danger, and that’s that. You’d be in a lot more danger than you think if you did come with me, and that’s because I haven’t told you everything . . . stop here.’

At his words, Morgana pulled the hand-break and turned off the engine. She looked around for a few moments before realising where she was, before turning to him with such a ferocious scowl that he instinctively leaned away from her glare.

‘Okay, Merlin. Is this a joke? The wall? The fucking wall?’

‘It’s not a joke.’

‘Can’t you feel it? Doesn’t it make you feel fucking awful? Why would you even come here, to the very _thing_ that symbolises the hatred of us?!’ Her hair, usually pin-straight, seemed to curl with static, and Merlin caught a furious glint in her eye.

‘Morgana,’ Merlin said, softly, tinged with warning, but she misinterpreted it.

‘Oh, I get it. You’ve been spinning bullshit this entire time, haven’t you? God! I bet you don’t even have magic! Is this a game to you? What did you . . . You know what? Fuck off. Get out. I don’t care. I’m going home.’

She made to exit the car, but Merlin’s hand shot out and grasped her arm tightly.

‘Let go of me!’ she shrieked.

‘I’m not lying to you,’ he said, growing impatient.

But Morgana refused to listen, and kept struggling against his grip. Somehow, she managed to wrestle his arm into an uncomfortable angle, forcing him to let go. She writhed away from him like a snake. In a blink of an eye, she’d undone her seatbelt, and was about to open the door, but Merlin’s magic was quick and wily, and like the crack of a whip all the locks in the car sealed themselves without a word from him. Magically sealed, they would not budge.

Morgana pulled at the handle desperately. ‘What did you do?! Let me out!’

‘Just listen to me,’ he demanded. ‘They’re locked by magic, Morgana. Only a spell can unlock them.’

That caught her attention.

‘You did. . . magic?’

He nodded. ‘I’m not lying to you,’ he repeated. ‘Look, I’m going over the wall.’

‘What?’ she asked, confused. ‘That’s not possible.’

Merlin sighed deeply. He didn’t want to talk about this right now, but he really had no other choice. ‘I’m not from Essetir. I’m from there, over the wall,’ he gestured lamely towards the towering iron structure.  

She stared at him, mouth agape, silenced.

Now that she was still, he muttered ‘ _aliese’_ and the locks sprung back up. The golden light that burned momentarily in his eyes reflected weakly in Morgana’s own, and she swayed slightly with shock, yet he knew she could not look away; she was entirely mesmerised.

‘Your eyes.’ Barely a whisper passed her lips. ‘Oh my god. Your eyes.’

He waited while she slowly drew herself back together. She soon realised she was staring at him and so tried to shift her gaze anywhere else, embarrassed. Then she got out of the car.

Outside the air was cool and fresh. But it was tainted by the bitter waves of pain that radiated from the cold iron, much more potent when unprotected by the metal husk of the car.

Morgana was walking away from the wall, slightly unsteadily, and Merlin followed her.

‘I’m sorry. I have to be further away from it to think straight,’ she told him. ‘It’s better here.’

‘It is,’ Merlin agreed. ‘I’m sorry for locking you in.’

‘I think I just realised it was real. This entire situation. Fuck,’ she swore. ‘You really have magic.’

‘I do.’

‘But how can you do it here? Isn’t the wall meant to stop it?’

‘In theory, yes. But how do you think I got through? I didn’t go through a guard tower, that’s for sure.’

She was quiet. ‘So, you really are from . . . there?’

‘Born and raised,’ Merlin shrugged.

‘Well then. Either you’re actually insane, or I don’t know as much about you as I thought I did.’

‘I wasn’t exactly going to run around telling strangers that, was I?’

‘True,’ she agreed. ‘And now you’re going to go back across to get me a book?’

‘Exactly.’ He smiled hesitantly at her. ‘You see why I can’t bring you, though?’

She nodded. ‘I don’t want to go near that wall anyway. But is it really so dangerous over there?’

‘Yes,’ he answered simply. ‘But it’s my home, so I know how to get by.’

He didn’t tell her that he hadn’t been home in months, and that anything could have happened in the Free City since then, volatile as it was. He didn’t tell her that he might not find his family, let alone the magical book. Or that he might not be able to come back, if Nimueh got wind of his return.

‘I shouldn’t be long. It’ll take maybe an hour or two. You can drive home if you want – I’ll make my own way there.’

‘Don’t be silly, Merlin. You wouldn’t get back until dawn. I’ll wait for you.’

‘Okay, then you should park in one of the side roads along from here, and I’ll find you when I get back out.’

She nodded primly. ‘And then tomorrow you’ll talk. I’ll settle with this much explanation for now, but know that I expect more.’

He grinned at her. ‘Of course. See you soon.’

As Merlin crept his way towards the wall, Morgana watched him from afar. He kept to the shadows, but even now, after the increased measures throughout Camelot, light remained the only form of protection that Camelot deemed necessary. No barbed wire, no alarms, no trenches, and no guards in this stretch – signs of Pendragon Security’s deep faith in their infallible Great Wall. 

He was aware of her gaze as he parted the metal and slipped through to the Free City. But then the metal sealed behind him and it was like she had never set eyes on him at all.

*

It was late at night, and Merlin thanked the stars that there was no one about. He jogged a familiar path home, weaving in and out of dilapidated ruins, crossing through abandoned courtyards and walled paths, and then slinking through the shadows in the busier, hive-like areas of settlement deep within the Free City, where the sounds of sleep and late-night murmurs filled the night. The hum of people, close together and all around, and the light pattering of his feet was all that he could hear.

He wasn’t used to such quiet. In his memory, home had been loud – full of raucous voices, shouting and bartering, cursing and screaming – and it had always been so busy too, with its cramped corners and paths, wooden shacks and overhangs the only privacy from rain, wind and people; the constant throngs of people going about their shambled lives in a tight space, where breathing often seemed difficult for fear of encroaching into another’s space. In the day-time, perhaps it was still like that. But this murmuring night was full-dark, except for the flicker of fires here and there, glimpsed through a thinned knot in a plank of wood, or at the centre of a group of huts, iron cauldron swaying on top, a joined hearth for a makeshift family. Otherwise, the dark was full and thick, no streetlights or floodlights to imitate day. And although it wasn’t fully quiet, the roaring cars, sirens, and electronic hum had such a subtle but pervasive presence in Camelot that Merlin did not realise at first exactly what was missing to create such a void of silence. His ears strained to adjust back to the familiar, weakened by long exposure to city noise.

And it smelled of smoke. It smelled of home.

He cut through a crumbling arch, covered in scrawled, charcoal runes, then he lowered himself off a wall, dropping down a few feet into a small back alley, and then continued from there, hoping this way he’d have skipped any potential guard of Nimueh’s at the entrance to the Lower Town. A few maze-like turns, as he walked the most roundabout way to where he had once lived, in case anyone was following him, and then he was standing outside the lopsided door, the faint glow of a fire flickering within.

With a creak of the door, and his heart in his throat, Merlin slowly and quietly went home.

Not yet daring to look around, he gently pressed the door closed to keep any warmth trapped inside. As it scraped closed, he heard the slight shuffle behind him of footsteps trying to be stealthy. He swirled around, instinctively raising a hand to catch the arm that was at that moment shooting forward with the full intention of swinging a pan into the side of his head.

For a moment they wrestled soundlessly, limbs tangled together. Then the pan dropped to the stone floor with a clang and they were still.

Breathless, Merlin said, ‘I see you’re still no good at sneaking up on people, Will.’

‘Merlin?!’ Merlin’s assailant peered closer at him. ‘Shit, it is you!’

Merlin held up his hands, shrugging, and then his arms were pinned to his sides as Will embraced him in an exuberant hug, nearly lifting him off his feet.

‘Will? What’s going on?’ Hunith’s said as she ducked under the strip of tatty, hanging cloth that separated this room from the other. Behind her came Freya, wrapped in a woollen shawl, and Lance with his hair all messy from sleep.

The sight of the four of them, half-awake and just as he remembered, was so familiar and homely to Merlin he felt that his heart would burst.

‘Hello,’ he said, grinning. ‘Sorry to wake you all up.’

‘Merlin!’ his mother exclaimed, before rushing forward to him. She put her cool palm on his cheek, inspecting her son after these months apart and then, satisfied with what she saw, folded him into her arms. The roughly-woven fabric of her nightshirt rubbed against his face, and he felt fourteen again; the echoes of that first reunion etched into this moment through skin-memory.

‘You look healthy,’ Hunith observed.

Will laughed. ‘Not so scrawny like the rest of us, eh?’

‘I guess so,’ Merlin said. Now he looked closer, he could see the remains of winter in their lean faces and unhealthy pallor – all skinnier and bonier than he remembered. ‘You wouldn’t believe the amount of food they have over there.’

He hugged Freya, then, who was cold to his touch. ‘Missed you,’ he told her. Her eyes shone with delight, despite their deep shadows.

‘You look like one of them,’ Will said. ‘Your clothes are all different.’

‘Well, I couldn’t exactly go on wearing what I was, now, could I?’ Merlin said dryly. ‘Trust me, I hate these things.’ He picked at the sleeve of the jumper he wore, with its fragile weave that let all the wind through.

Lance clapped Merlin on the back, grinning down at him. ‘We were wondering if we were ever going to see you again! It’s been months, mate.’

‘The entire winter,’ Will added. ‘Not so easy stealing food in the hungry season without your tricks.’  

Merlin grimaced slightly. ‘Sorry. I know.’

‘Well, you’re back now,’ Freya said cheerily.

Merlin’s heart felt like it was back in his throat again, but for a very different reason now.

‘Did you bring us presents?’ Will joked.

‘Well . . .’

‘“Well” what?’ Hunith asked, concern flashing across her face.

‘I . . . I can’t stay for long.’

‘What?’ Will asked, unbelieving.

‘What are you talking about?’ Freya said. ‘You just got back!’

‘Merlin?’ his mother questioned.

‘I’m sorry, I really am –’ he didn’t get a chance to explain himself before Will exploded with a fury that Merlin had never experienced before.

‘When?! Why? Why even come back at all? Don’t you know how _dangerous_ it is? Don’t you know what we’ve been through? Nimueh’s been here every other fucking day interrogating us, as if we knew anything about whatever the hell you’ve been doing, and not a word from you, not a sign if you were dead or alive,’ Will yelled, his cheeks flushing red with fury.

‘You think I don’t know that? God, Will!’ Merlin shot back. ‘I feel awful, putting you all in danger, I really do! I came back for the book, the magic book – you know the one – and it’s really important that I get it, because there are people in Camelot who need it more than ever. I won’t say more than that, in case Nimueh questions you. And I’m sorry that I can’t stay. You all know me – you know I want to come home more than anything. You’re my family,’ he finished, speaking softly now.

Merlin listened to the crackling of the fire in the hearth, waiting.

‘I don’t like it, Merlin,’ Hunith said, ‘but I know I can’t stop you.’

Merlin sighed, but sent her an appreciative smile. Will fumed silently.

‘The book’s on the shelf,’ Freya said, her tone blank. She wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.

Lance was closest to the shelf, and Merlin was surprised when he went to get the book. Merlin wondered if it was a show of goodwill.

‘Freya’s been sicker this winter, you know,’ Will said coolly. ‘Without your little charms.’

‘Will . . .’ she reprimanded. ‘Leave it.’

‘No, he should know!’

‘Will!’ Both Freya and Hunith spoke his name, harshly, though it was Hunith’s glare that truly quietened him.

‘I’m sorry,’ Merlin said again, feeling as though it was all he could say.

‘How long can you stay?’ his mother asked.

‘Not long. At best a few hours. I don’t want to risk Nimueh finding out I’m here.’

Will huffed. ‘Or you just think you’re too good for us. Want to get back home to Camelot as quick as possible. You’re one of them, now, after all.’

‘For god’s sake, Will, grow up,’ Merlin snapped.

The room fell into an awkward silence. Will glowered at Merlin, anger radiating from him in waves, and Merlin knew his friend well enough to recognise that the anger was Will’s thin cover for deep hurt. He regretted his words.

Will was also all too aware that Merlin knew he was upset, and rather than acknowledge this, he ran out into the night, letting a rush of cool air in which stirred the smoke in the little room, making it swirl in delicate spirals.

Hunith looked to Merlin. ‘He’s been worried for you. We all have. But you know how Will is. He’s always been so protective of you.’

Merlin nodded grimly.

‘He’ll be alright,’ she added. ‘And you’ll promise me you will too?’

‘I will. I’ve got everything under control.’

‘I believe you.’ Hunith’s face creased with her smile. She gathered him into her arms again, and planted a kiss on his cheek, too short to reach the top of his head. ‘You can always come home, Merlin. If it gets too much. And we’ll hide you, if it comes to that.’

‘Thanks, mum,’ he murmured. ‘Love you. And I’m sorry.’

‘None of that,’ she hushed him.

He gave Freya another hug, feeling a wave of guilt at how frail she was in her arms, and then went to say farewell to Lancelot who still clutched the book of spells to his chest.

‘Better not forget that,’ Merlin said, pointing to it. ‘Keep well, then.’

‘Yeah,’ Lance said, hesitantly handing it to Merlin. ‘Here. I’ll walk you back.’

Lance showed him the paths that were currently unguarded, and seeing as it was now the very early hours of the morning there was no one about. The temperature had dropped, and they huddled close together for warmth.

‘Like old times, huh?’ Lance said.

Merlin grinned. ‘Yeah. I do miss it every now and again.’

‘Remember when we raided old man Henley’s stall in the market five weeks in a row? We could’ve done it our sleep!’ Lance chuckled.

‘He had the best bread,’ Merlin laughed, ‘and he was such an idiot.’

‘I miss that bread. Pity Nimueh got him.’

‘Is that what happened? I can hardly remember.’

‘Yeah, he got caught spreading news about the Order.’

‘Well, then. Like I said. An idiot.’ 

‘Remember the day they fell?’

‘Of course. It was the sunniest day I’d ever seen ‘til I went to Camelot.’

‘It was, wasn’t it! So damn hot . . .’ Lance paused, lost in memory. ‘I just remember being so thirsty, that there was sweat in my eyes, and I was so bone-tired I didn’t think I could take another step. And when I found out the fucking Triskelions were finally done for, it was like none of that mattered. I just threw down my shovel and marched out of that pit and never looked back.’

Merlin looked at Lance fondly. ‘That’s not true. You turned back to find me.’

At this, Lance grinned and looked at his feet. ‘Yeah. I did. You’re right.’

‘We were smart to stick together. Certainly made stealing from Henley and the like easier.’

Suddenly Lancelot stopped walking. Merlin stopped as well, curious.

‘Listen, Merlin, I’ve been thinking . . .’

‘Yeah?’

‘I was thinking that . . . maybe . . . you might need some help?’

‘What do you mean?’ Merlin asked, confused.

‘I – well, I reckon that it might be useful, I don’t know . . . if, perhaps, I came back with you? To Camelot?’ Lance muttered under his breath.

‘Are you serious?’ Merlin was shocked.

‘Yes! Completely.’

‘You can’t be. I can’t. Absolutely not.’

‘C’mon, Merlin! Surely you realise that you need someone there who knows you! The only reason we survived all those years was because we were there for each other. I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s true. And you know it. And you also know they we’re lying to ourselves if we think any of us are any safer under Nimueh than we were under the Order. You’re working for her all on your own, and that’s a dangerous way to be _. Especially_ in Camelot.’

‘I’ve got it under control.’

‘Do you? You know you’ve never been good at figuring out political stuff. You’re good at magic – no, you’re brilliant at it. And you’re Nimueh’s equal on that part, I’d be willing to bet. But she plays other games, too. And the politics – that’s what I’m good at. It’s what I love.’

Merlin glared at Lance then started to speedily walk away, shaking his head. Lance ran after him, and grabbed his arm.

‘Merlin! Please,’ he begged, a strange look of desperation straining his usually calm, composed features. ‘I’ve thought it through! I’ll be just as useful in Camelot. I can back up your story, all that. And you’ll know someone has your back. I just . . . I need to be there, Merlin. Surely you know what it’s like, when you get that gut feeling, and you’ve got to do what it wants of you. Well, it wants me to go with you, to Camelot. It won’t be dangerous for me there – it’s not like I’m a sorcerer,’ Lance finished hesitantly.

‘Lance . . .’

‘It’ll be worth it. I swear.’

‘I don’t know . . .’ he hesitated. ‘I can’t . . .’ Merlin turned so that they could start walking again, aware that they shouldn’t loiter in one place too long. ‘It’s really tempting, Lance. I just wish it was possible.’

‘Merlin, mate. You can make it possible just by letting me through.’

‘You’re relentless.’ Merlin said, glancing over his shoulder to glare at Lance again, though this time with a touch of humour. For a moment, his eyes snagged on some movement in the shadows behind them, moving fast and silent.

‘I’m –’ Lance started to reply, but Merlin held up his hand, fingers positioned in the sign they both knew meant _danger._

They dropped their discussion and began walking much faster. They didn’t need to talk; instinctively, they both darted down an alleyway knowing it had plenty of corners and offshoots down which they could disappear with ease. But the shadow was fast on their heels. Merlin didn’t dare look over his shoulder, but his ears were alert and he could tell their shadow’s pace was quickening as well. Too close to lose them.

So he started sprint. Lance did too, just behind him, and they skidded around corners, kicking up dust, and still the person following them tagged at their heels, getting closer with each second that passed.

The narrow alleyway opened out onto a spacious courtyard. Merlin leaped onto a ledge to the side as soon as he broke out into the open, and thrust his magic towards their chaser, the words _flíeh hrǽgl_ on his lips.

It should have tripped the man, but he only stumbled in his tracks. Then, with a grunt, he lunged towards Merlin, who was balanced on the thin stone about a foot off the ground. Before the man could touch him, though, Merlin jumped past him, lithe and lean. As soon as his feet touched the ground he tore off in the direction that Lance had gone. But then he realised that Lance was no longer running. Instead, he was slowly backing towards Merlin, his hands in the air.

There was a hooded figure standing under the cracked archway they would have escaped through. She held a whip in their hands which crackled with blue light.

‘Running late?’ she teased with a low, rough voice.

Merlin came to a frozen halt next to Lance. They said nothing.

The woman paced closer towards them. ‘Nimueh’s not happy with how long you’ve been away, Merlin.’

Merlin swore under his breath.

The woman smirked. ‘You thought she would leave the wall unwatched? Silly boy.’

A heavy hand came down on his arm. He tried to shrug it off, but the man who had chased them tightened his grip.

‘You’ll do best to come easily and quickly. No fuss.’ She twitched the whip so that sparks flew from it, bright electric blue in the black night.

Merlin eyed her whip with wary eyes, and then glanced at the fist gripping his arm. ‘Alright. If you let my friend go.’

The woman squinted at Lance, as if sizing him up. ‘Sleeve,’ she commanded.

Lance scowled at her, but he pushed up the sleeve on one arm revealing plain, unmarked skin. Satisfied, the woman nodded. ‘Fine. Go, now.’

Lance didn’t leave at once, visibly concerned. ‘Merlin?’ he said, turning to his friend. He searched Merlin’s face for some secret understanding.

‘Go. This’ll be as messy as old man Henley – you don’t want to be here for that. Go.’ With these words, there was the smallest flash of recognition in Lance’s eyes, but otherwise his face betrayed nothing. Instead, he nodded solemnly and then walked away.

Merlin’s captors waited until Lance disappeared into the shadows before kicking at his heels to get him to walk in the opposite direction.

‘Where are we going?’ Merlin asked.

‘No questions,’ the man growled.

He let the man push and prod him along the cobbled path. The woman took the lead, holding her head and whip lofty with pride. Merlin’s eyes narrowed as he studied her weapon. Now that she was not actively threatening him with it, the vicious sparks of electricity merely snaked across it, infrequent and muted. He figured that meant it was tied to her magical concentration. All he had to do, then, was distract her and get it out of her hands. As for the man holding him . . .

He knew which way they were going. They were about to pass under one of the old bridges, where the rocks were loose and crumbling.

There was barely any light, but he could see the pitch-black outline of a stone against the sky, and without a word, he forced the stone into the air – the weight of it pressing against his magic with the satisfaction of a stretched muscle – and then just as the he passed under the bridge, he let it fall hard and fast upon the man’s skull. There was a dull thud, and with it the grip on Merlin’s shoulders was loosened. Before the stone could clatter to the ground, and before the now-unconscious man could topple into a heap, Merlin threw his book aside, leaped forward and tackled the woman to the ground.

She was winded; he heard the air go out of her. In her shock, she dropped the whip, and part of him noticed that the electricity on its surface died out. Before he could cast another spell, though, she thrust an elbow backwards and it collided with his face. The blow bent his neck back and clattered his teeth together; he saw flashing lights for a moment.

Blinking wildly, he somehow managed to stay on top of the witch who was writhing and straining to get away. She held out a hand and spoke a summoning charm, and the whip flew towards her fingers. Grunting, he knocked it out of the way – a momentary shock singed his fingers and jolted his arm – and then with all his strength he held her face into the ground and spat out a sleeping spell.

She lay still. Merlin quickly sat up, and with a wave of his hand moved her body up against the side of the bridge, deep in the shadows. His breath came fast and shakily.

He heard a noise behind him, and spun around. The man had woken up; he was now stumbling towards Merlin, and Merlin’s brain went blank for a second too long. A gnarly fist collided with his stomach and he doubled over in pain. He was still folded in half when he heard a loud _thwack,_ only to look up and see the man’s eyes rolling in his head as he toppled to the ground yet again. And in his place stood Will, his arms outstretched, a long plank of wood in his strong hands.

Merlin let all his breath out at once, and grinned at Will. Lance stood slightly further back, his arms crossed, watching with pride.

‘He’s going to wake up with one hell of a headache,’ Merlin joked.

Hints of a grin sparked in Will’s eyes, but the echoes of the earlier argument made him settle for a sheepish smile. ‘Well, judging by the way you smashed her face into the ground, so will she. Lucky for all that Camelot food, eh? Without it you’d never have been fat enough to hold her down.’

Merlin laughed. Another wave of his hand saw the man’s body float over to the woman’s, and he nestled them together under the bridge.

‘How sweet,’ Lance said. ‘Two little children tucked in for bed. Lucky for you they were so idiotic.’

‘Well, if you show off your best magic straight away in a weapon like that,’ Merlin bent to pick up the whip, ‘then you’re hardly keeping any tricks up your sleeve for later, are you?’

‘Nimueh could do with better cronies,’ Will said.

‘I thought I was one of her cronies,’ Merlin said. He flicked the whip, letting his magic run down its length where it became visible blue fire. He grinned wickedly at his friends, blue light flickering in his eyes. ‘Do I look like one?’

‘You look like a madman,’ Lance insisted. ‘And strictly speaking, you’re an accomplice. Too good for guard duty.’

‘Aw, thanks dear.’

‘Honestly, Merlin!’ Will laughed. ‘Put it out! I can’t take you seriously.’

Merlin flicked the whip gently towards Will, but let the electricity die down. He placed it by the woman’s hand.

‘Not keeping it?’ Will asked.

Merlin shook his head. ‘I can’t take it with me. It’ll look ridiculous over there.’

‘I could take it.’ Will looked at it longingly.

‘And just hand Nimueh direct evidence that you were here? Not a good idea, mate.’ Lance raised his eyebrows.

‘They saw you! They’ll know you were involved anyway!’

‘It won’t matter that they saw me. I won’t . . .’

‘You won’t what?’

‘Lance,’ Merlin warned. ‘I can’t . . .’

Will looked between the two of them, back and forth. Then he laughed, humourlessly, one short bark of disdain. ‘I see. You’re going with him.’ He looked at his hands, fiddled with his fingernails.

‘No, he’s not,’ Merlin said adamantly.

Lance huffed. But before he could get a word out, Will turned on Merlin. ‘Yes, he is. Lance is going with you, whether you like it or not.’

‘What?!’ Lance looked at Will, gobsmacked.

Merlin blinked in open confusion. ‘You’re meant to disagree with Lance, Will. That’s how this goes.’

‘Oh, am I so predictable?’ Will scowled. ‘Come on, let me have a little dignity. You both know I’d do anything to be the one to go with you, Merlin. You’re like my . . . no, fuck it – you _are_ my little brother,’ his voice cracked with emotion, ‘and you know how fucking hard it is for me to be so far away, with no idea if you’re alive or dead or waiting for me to whack someone over the head with a fucking log for you. But I know I can’t go with you. I’m not smart about things like Lance is. I’m no sorcerer. And I need to be with Freya, especially when she’s having a bad spell. But that doesn’t mean I think you should be alone over there. I’ve been there with you, I know what it’s like. It’s not the sort of place where people like us should be alone. And Lance, mate,’ he turned to Lancelot, ‘you’re who I trust the most to go with him.’

Merlin bit his lip, feeling his eyes burn. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the grubby, stocky man he’d grown up with. ‘Will,’ he mumbled, his voice tiny.

‘None of that,’ Will replied gruffly, repeating the phrase Hunith had said to them countless times in their youth. He reached Merlin in one step, and pulled him into a deep hug. ‘Lance is going with you,’ Will said, his voice rumbling in his chest.

When they moved apart, the shorter man kept his hands on Merlin’s shoulders and stared right in his eyes. ‘It’s settled, alright?’

Merlin frowned at his friends, but nodded agreement. Lance struggled to hide a smile. Will sighed.

‘I’ll leave you lot here. We’re pretty much at the wall anyway.’

‘Okay,’ Merlin. ‘I’m sorry.’

Will smiled slightly, but said no more. He gave Lance a hug, then waved at them both over his shoulder and walked away.

Merlin and Lance stood there for a moment, and then with a quick glance at each other they began to run towards the wall, stopping only for Merlin to retrieve his magic book from where he’d thrown it.

They ran in silence, and they met no one else. Soon enough, Merlin’s nose began to ache as though it was in a freezing wind, and his eyes started to water, and his magic started to retreat.

Lance waited next to him with bated breath as he opened the entrance-way in the wall, and then dashed through as Merlin strained to hold it steady. Feeling his strength begin to weaken, Merlin followed swiftly.

They hurried away from the wall, still afraid of being caught. Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin noticed Lance’s wide-eyed admiration for Camelot; it wasn’t the first time he’d seen it but it was always incredible to behold. Once they reached the streets where it was possible to become anonymous pedestrians again, they both relaxed. Lance spun around in a circle, his arms held wide.

‘I always forget how light it is! And so open! God, can you feel that wind?’

Merlin laughed at his friend. ‘Subtle, Lance. Top marks already for fitting in.’

‘There’s no one around,’ Lance retorted. ‘Come on, just ‘cos you’ve had months here.’

‘True. Wait until you try being in a car. It’s terrifying, but great.’

‘A car!’ Lance exclaimed.

‘You’re going to have to pretend that you know what things are a lot, alright? We’ve got what we knew from my mum’s stories, but there’s so much more that she didn’t tell us about. And if you ask questions, people will think it’s weird because it’s stuff they don’t even think about.’

Lance nodded. ‘I figured as much. I’ll need a backstory too, won’t I?’

 

*

 

Morgana was dozing in her car. There was only so long you could watch a digital clock as minutes ticked over into hours, and she _had_ been waiting hours for any sign of Merlin. It was nearly four in the morning when a tap on her window woke her up, startling her enough to make her jump.

She guessed that it was Merlin, because who else would be around this part of town at this time of night? But there were voices, and that didn’t make sense to her sleep-hazy mind.

Merlin was going to be alone, right? Suddenly she was afraid – would he have brought other sorcerers back with him? What would they do to her? Threaten her? Ransom her? Hurt her? She stayed in her seat, and peered out the window into the night. Her windows were tinted – they wouldn’t be able to see her looking.

There _was_ someone else. It was a tall, skinny man, as far as she could see.

‘Sure that’s the right one?’ the stranger said.

‘Definitely. She’s probably asleep.’

‘Tap on the window again.’

Merlin moved towards the door, but before he could reach it Morgana opened it and got out.

She watched the stranger warily. ‘Merlin? Who’s this?’

‘Lance. He’s from over the wall, like me.’

‘What?! Are you stupid?’ She tore her gaze from this Lance to glare at Merlin, the complete and utter idiot.

‘It’s not really that stupid,’ Lance said. He voice was charming, and now that she was close to him, she saw that he was very handsome as well, despite the shadows of hunger under his eyes and in his cheeks. ‘It gives Merlin more of a stable identity here. A network of people he can trust, you know? He tells me you’re a witch?’ Lance’s expression brightened with this question, as though it was any old topic of conversation.  

‘I’m sure Merlin also told you that that’s not something you can just _say_ over here.’ She glared at the pale, dark haired man (who was a powerful sorcerer, she had to keep reminding herself) again.

Lance shrugged. ‘Figured there wasn’t much time for beating around the bush.’

‘Lance is going to need different clothes. And a shower.’ Merlin turned to Lance, muttering, ‘that’s their version of a bath.’

‘We have baths too,’ Morgana said.

Merlin looked at her with curiosity. ‘Huh. Really?’

‘Of course. Just because Gwen doesn’t have one doesn’t mean they don’t exist. You don’t have showers?’

Merlin’s curiosity vanished with a roll of his eyes, and he grinned at her sardonically. ‘No. It’s a bit too medieval over the wall for that.’

Lance laughed. Morgana felt rather overwhelmed by these two men with their shared jokes and knowledge, and she was becoming quickly certain that the Merlin she thought she’d known was almost as much a stranger as this Lance.

‘You’ll be a sorcerer too, then, Lance?’ she demanded.

‘Me?’ he looked surprised. ‘No, not at all.’

‘So you’re not going to be my teacher?’

That made Merlin laugh. 

Lance smiled at her. ‘No, I’d be pretty useless, trust me. I know what magic looks like, but I honestly don’t know the first thing about it.’

‘Still more than me,’ she mumbled. She was tired and didn’t particularly care for keeping up a brave façade much longer.

Merlin took her by the arm and steered her back into the car, speaking to her with certainty. ‘I’m going to teach you, Morgana. And don’t worry. Even just your most basic, innate connection with magic is deeper and more knowledgeable than anything Lance will ever wrap his scrawny little brains around.’

‘Hey!’ Lance yelped as he got in the back. Morgana smiled at Merlin appreciatively.

‘Ignore Lance,’ Merlin said. ‘He’s not a cool sorcerer like us.’

‘I changed my mind, Merlin. I want to go back home. Take me back.’

‘Too late, dearie. Speaking of . . . let’s go home,’ Merlin said.

Morgana agreed with that sentiment wholeheartedly. It was four in the morning and she was tired and craving her bed. It was as she drove them all home along the sleeping streets of Camelot that she realised for the first time in many, many nights, she was not afraid of falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter!   
> I'm not gonna lie . . . my mental version of Will is now just Gendry from Game of Thrones. 
> 
> (On another note - how is it possible to love every single character from Merlin so bloody much????? I just want them all 2 be happy man)  
> Hope you all enjoy!!!


	13. Chapter 13

‘Mr Pendragon? I have your breakfast here.’

Arthur woke up, groaning, and rolled over to face his useless assistant. ‘I’m awake _now . . ._ ’ he began, but then his eyes finally focused on the man standing by his bed. ‘. . . You’re not Merlin,’ he said, frowning.

‘No, Mr Pendragon. I’m George. Your usual assistant has not yet graced us with his presence.’

Arthur had never seen someone’s mouth contort into such a round shape as this George did when saying his own name. His voice was plummy and pretentious and immediately grated on Arthur’s nerves.

George set the tray of breakfast on the bedside table without a sound, then proceeded to draw back the heavy curtains in one swift movement. Sunlight beamed into the room and Arthur held his hand up to shade his eyes, squinting. George opened the windows, and tied back the curtains, and then removed a cloth from god knows where and began rubbing a speck of dirt on the window. Then with a flick of the wrist, he tucked the cloth away and strode to Arthur’s bed.

‘I trust you’re feeling better this morning, Mr Pendragon?’ George ducked down to fiddle with the remote that controlled the back of the bed.

‘Just call me Arthur.’ The bed clicked into motion, and he felt himself being forced into a sitting-up position. ‘You don’t . . . George, leave the bed.’

‘Apologies, Mr Pendragon. I’ll put it back down.’ George knelt to press the switch again.

‘No, leave it,’ Arthur sighed. ‘I’m up now.’

George bowed his head slightly, and then set about placing Arthur’s breakfast in front of him.

‘Where did you say Merlin was?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know. Clearly he doesn’t wake with the sun!’ George chuckled to himself.

Arthur stared at him, utterly confused, wondering how this man was real. ‘Er . . . what is the time?’

‘Eleven, sir. We thought it best for you to get your rest.’ George looked pointedly at the plate of food in front of Arthur, which he hadn’t touched yet. ‘If you wish, I will cut your food up for you.’

‘No!’ Arthur exclaimed. ‘I mean, no, it’s alright. I’m sure I can manage.’

‘You are feeling better, then?’

‘Yes, thank you, George. I think I’m fit to leave.’

George nodded happily. ‘I’ll inform the nurse.’

Arthur grimaced at the man as he left. He was left in peace for a few moments, listening to the hum of the city below as he picked at his breakfast, when the door burst open and a bedraggled, breathless Merlin fell through into the room.

‘I’m . . . sorry . . .’ Merlin panted. ‘Overslept . . . forgot . . .’

His face was flushed and his hair was wild. And most strange, Arthur thought, was the dark bruise that painted his cheekbone.

Arthur stared at the bruise and then let out a bark of laughter, incredulous. ‘You’ve been in a fight!’

Merlin was still struggling to catch his breath, but with this observation he stilled, frowning with confusion.

‘No . . .?’ he said hesitantly, as if he couldn’t even convince himself to try to lie.

That made Arthur laugh again. ‘You haven’t seen yourself in a mirror today, have you?’

Arthur watched as Merlin’s mind visibly caught up. Eventually, he spun to look in the mirror on the wall. He gaped at his reflection, raising a hand to touch the bruise lightly.

‘Huh. Ow,’ he said. Then he turned back to Arthur and grinned widely, his teeth gleaming white. ‘I thought you were reading my mind.’

‘I take it that’s why you’re late.’

‘Well, not the fight necessarily. I suppose that it’s part of the reason. I didn’t get to sleep until near five in the morning.’

‘What were you doing?’ Arthur asked.

‘My friend Lance arrived in town last night. We had a lot of catching up to do,’ Merlin smiled fondly. 

Arthur felt a stab of jealousy in his stomach, but he brushed past it, and tried what he hoped was a light tone. ‘Did you fight him?’

His assistant collapsed into the chair by the bed, grinning. ‘Nah. He had my back.’

Merlin was altogether too long-limbed and spindly, Arthur thought. He was wearing mismatched socks too. The indigo bruise brought out the dark blue in his eyes.

Taking absolutely no notice whatsoever of his assistant’s long, dark eyelashes, Arthur said, ‘Well, I hope you got some punches in before your opponent won.’

Merlin laughed again. ‘Actually, I won, thank you very much.’

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

‘Don’t look so surprised!’

‘I’m not . . .’ he lied. ‘How did he hit you?’

‘Elbow. And it was a she, actually.’

Now Arthur laughed. ‘A woman? _Mer_ lin! What are you doing, beating up women?’

‘She came at me first! Besides, have you seen how skinny I am? Do I look like the sort to start fights with _anyone_?’

The door swung open to reveal George again who, upon noticing Merlin, looked like he smelt something bad. Arthur groaned internally.

‘Ah – George! My assistant’s here, now. So all my thanks for your help this morning, but I’m sure you have many more worthwhile things to be doing than running around after me.’

George looked Merlin up and down, eyes narrowing on the bruise. Merlin stayed flopped in the chair carelessly, with an almost-defensive expression on his face; he eyed George, challenging him to question Arthur’s decision.

‘Are . . . are you sure, Mr Pendragon?’

‘Quite.’

George scowled at Merlin and then left with his nose in the air.

When the door swung shut, Merlin leaned towards Arthur, whispering, ‘Who the hell was that?’

‘Your replacement for this morning. He’s . . . efficient.’

‘He scares me.’

‘He was _very_ efficient. You could learn some things from him.’

‘Oh?’

‘He doesn’t just sit in a chair all day, for one.’

Merlin crossed his legs and stayed very much in his seat. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise – was there something you needed, Oh Your Highness Mr Pendragon, sir?’

‘Shut up.’ Arthur could feel a light blush blooming on his cheeks.

Merlin snorted at him. Then, for a moment, it seemed as though his gaze softened with a flash of concern, so quickly that Arthur couldn’t quite be sure of it actually existing.

‘I suppose I should ask how you’re feeling,’ Merlin said. 

‘Fine, no thanks to you.’

His assistant raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah, that’s right. It was George who saved you from the sorcerer, wasn’t it? I’d forgotten.’

Arthur blushed pinker. ‘George is very brave.’

‘Indeed. He’s the hero Camelot deserves.’

Arthur laughed. ‘And you’re an idiot, you know?’

Merlin shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. ‘If you say so, _sire_.’

Arthur threw his pillow at him.

‘So who’s this Lance, then?’ he asked casually.

‘A friend from Ealdor. I’ve known him for years – he’s come to see the bright lights of the city. Figured now that I have a job and a place to live, it’s about time I invited him.’

‘I didn’t know you had friends.’

‘Funnily enough, most people tend to think I’m quite likeable,’ Merlin said. ‘Strange as that may sound to you.’

Arthur smiled. ‘They must be confused.’

They spent most of the afternoon chatting idly. Merlin didn’t really _do_ anything that resembled work. In fact, at one point he even dozed off in his armchair in the sun. Arthur studied the way Merlin’s hair curled across his forehead and watched the gentle rise-and-fall of his chest as he slept. The sun turned the fine skin of his ears red as it shone through. Every so often, his assistant twitched as though he were dreaming vividly. Arthur didn’t disturb him.

He was feeling fine. His throat no longer felt scorched; really, the only reason he was still in bed was for the peace and quiet. He knew that once he got back to work, he would be thrust right into the middle of the chaos that the sorcerer had wreaked – tracking down anyone who knew him, figuring out his movements, determining who he was and what he wanted. Hopefully the team had already covered most of that ground. Arthur wanted to talk to the man face to face, and see if he could get any answers that way. He also knew that he would not have much time left to do so.

He sat up straight and stretched, joints clicking. Then he stood up. It was time to leave the hospital.

 

*

 

Merlin rushed up the stairs to Morgana’s room, running a palm over the intricately carved balustrade as he went. He’d been itching to get away from the hospital all day.

He knocked lightly, murmuring, ‘It’s Merlin.’

Morgana let him in with a gleaming smile.

Her room was white and spacious, with a large window that looked out over the city in the valley below. Lance was sat on a rug on the floor, strumming a small guitar, looking cleaner than he’d ever been in his life.

He jumped up when Merlin came in, and spun around to present himself. ‘Look at me, Merlin! Can you believe this?’

Lance had always kept his long hair tucked neatly behind his ears, and that had not changed, but now it was shiny with months of dirt and grime removed. Morgana had clearly dressed him, too; he was wearing an oversized denim jacket that Merlin was now confident enough to call fashionable, and all his clothes were remarkably clean and whole.

‘Very dashing,’ Merlin replied. ‘See you went as mad with him as you did with me, Morgana.’

‘A girl’s got to have fun,’ she said playfully. ‘How was my dear brother?’

‘He’s better. Still annoying. He’s out of the hospital now.’

‘I’m glad,’ she said, completely sincere. Then her expression turned hesitant. ‘So . . . are we . . .?’

‘Going on a long, innocent walk in the woods?’ Merlin asked.

‘You took the words right out of my mouth.’

Lance laughed at the two of them. ‘Well, come on, then. Stop dancing around it. Let’s go!’

They drove out of Camelot, further than Merlin and Lance had ever imagined they’d travel, into the winding roads of the countryside. There were rolling hills of lush green grass, dotted with white sheep and moss-coated farming cottages. Eventually, the road dwindled away at the foot of a secluded forest. They trekked through it, the soft evening light just managing to filter through the canopy, turning everything a shade of leaf-green as they listened to sleepy birdsong and the crunch of leaves underfoot. 

‘Are you sure you know where you’re going, Morgana?’ Lance asked for the third time.

‘Yes, it’s just through here,’ she replied impatiently, also for the third time.

Before long, she led them to a small, abandoned hut. There were vines climbing up the side and cracks in the windowpanes, but the roof and walls were sturdy enough to give them shelter – and more importantly, hide them from view.

‘How did you know about this place?’ Merlin asked. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘I found it as a kid,’ she said. ‘There’s a country house on the edge of the forest that we’d stay in during school holidays. It would get pretty boring after a while – they were long summers – and Arthur and I basically had all the time in the world to explore these woods. One day we came across this place.’ Morgana brushed her fingers on the doorframe fondly. ‘We thought it seemed like the kind of place a witch would live, and we were a bit scared of it. But we kept coming back, every summer until we stopped staying here.’ She pushed the door open with a quick shove. ‘It’s always seemed like a secret – that’s why I thought of it so quickly when you asked if I knew of a place we could practise.’

‘It’ll be perfect,’ Merlin said, ducking inside. It was small, but they didn’t need much space. All they needed was privacy.

There was plant decay and debris scattered across the floor, blown inside during a long-passed storm. Merlin swept it all aside with a flick of his wrist. He saw Morgana freeze in her tracks.

Lance was right behind her. He stepped forward to rest his hand on her shoulder sympathetically, saying with his easy charm, ‘You’ll get used to it, don’t worry.’

‘You didn’t say anything,’ Morgana said, looking at him with confusion. ‘I thought . . . in the movies, there’s always words.’

‘The movies aren’t very good at getting it right,’ Merlin replied. It hadn’t taken him long to figure that out for himself. ‘They don’t show the eyes either. As far as I can tell, whatever you think you know about magic from films or horror stories or word-of-mouth, you’d be better off forgetting. Most of what I’ve heard since I’ve been here is just rubbish, really.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Definitely.’

‘What do they get wrong?’ Lance asked as he sat down in the corner.

‘Nearly everything,’ Merlin laughed. ‘We’re all raving lunatics, for a start. I can’t quite tell if they think we have feelings or not . . . it’s a bit unclear. If we do, then magic’s an evil force that feeds off them. And forces us to commit as many acts of evil as we possibly can. We also love blood. And raising demons. I think.’ 

Morgana wasn’t laughing. ‘Even if those things aren’t true, everyone believes they are. Or they don’t want to think otherwise.’

Merlin’s grin faded, and he said, ‘I know. Trust me, I do. All the more reason to prove them wrong, hey?’ He looked at her seriously.

She nodded, pale.

Merlin rummaged in his bag and brought out the magic book.

‘This is the book I went to get you. I think reading it will be really useful . . . you can learn a whole lot of different words and incantations, and there’s a lot of theory which I found interesting – you might not, but I figured since you’re not really used to using your magic naturally, it might help to explain why or how or whatever.’

Morgana took the book from him gingerly, and leafed through the thick pages. ‘Is this parchment?’ she asked under her breath, almost disbelievingly, before frowning and asking a bit louder, ‘Isn’t it incredibly risky for me to carry around a book of magic spells?’

Merlin looked smug. ‘It’s enchanted. Only sorcerers can read it.’

‘How . . . convenient,’ she said. ‘I won’t be able to take it near any alarms, though, will I?’

‘No. But you wouldn’t want to take it into public anyway – you wouldn’t see many books like that in the city. The charm’s mostly just a safety mechanism.’

‘Right. Did you do it? Enchant it, I mean?’

Merlin snorted. ‘I wish. I barely understand it. I’m mostly just happy it exists.’

He waited until Morgana was finished scanning the book, before settling down cross-legged on the floor and beckoning for her to mirror his position. While he sat relaxed and natural, she sat straight-backed, her hands clasped neatly in her lap. Merlin let the silence of the room settle as he pondered the best way to do this.

‘Okay.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Morgana – before we do anything else, we need to get your control of your magic sorted. Spells, theories, anything – it’s all pointless unless you’ve got a grasp on your magic and you can bring it out when you want it, or stop it when you don’t. Whenever your magic does things all of a sudden, like when you have nightmares, it’s because you don’t have the control.’

‘I thought you said it was because it didn’t have anywhere to go?’

‘Well, that too. Both are reasons. But you see how they’re interconnected, right? If you can control it, you can free it. If you can’t, then it’s stuck and it’ll probably burst out dangerously.’

‘I see.’

‘Okay then – can you bring your magic to the surface?’

Morgana looked at him blankly. ‘How do I do that?’

‘Oh. Well, so, if you sort of . . .’ he hesitated. ‘Sorry. It’s hard to use words to explain this. I can’t really describe it – it’s too instinctive. You just need to . . . get a hold on your magic. Kind of tug at it. And then direct it where you want it.’

Her face fell, looking even more confused. ‘I don’t think I know how to do that.’

Merlin tried again. ‘That’s alright. Smaller steps. Maybe closing your eyes will help. Go to where . . . go to the magic’s core, and . . .’

‘Where’s that?’ she asked.

He blinked at her. ‘You don’t know . . .?’

She bit her lip then shook her head softly. Merlin frowned, realising that he had to rethink his approach. He’d definitely overestimated Morgana’s control.

He thought furiously, trying to remember if he’d ever learnt how to explain something like this. He had never met anyone with their magic buried so deep before; neither had he heard of anyone teaching the absolute basics. Especially something as basic as locating the magic at its source . . . With that thought, the memory hit him square on. Flashes of a day burnt into his skin: a misty courtyard; his small figure seemingly lost in a tangle of bodies that stunk of sweat and fear; the woman’s dry, shaking hands on his body; and the invading force of her magic as it plunged through his veins, making his eyes sting and his heart ache, and finding his magic even as he sought to hide it from her.

‘I think I have an idea,’ he said. His heart was beating faster than it should. He held out his own hands – palms upwards – in between them.

Morgana frowned. ‘Do you want me to . . .?’

‘Yes. But before we join hands, I need to tell you what I’m going to do. I don’t want to frighten you, or do anything you don’t want. This way I can get your permission, okay? It’s important for me to get that.’

She nodded cautiously. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to use my magic to look for yours. To try and draw it out, in a way. That means you’ll feel . . . well, you’ll notice the presence of my magic within you. I don’t think you can describe it as _feeling_ as such, but that’s beside the point. It’ll be perfectly safe,’ he reassured her, ‘it’s just kind of invasive, you know? But it’s the only way I can think to get you aware of where your magic is.’

‘What do I have to do?’ she asked.

‘Just try to follow me.’

Merlin didn’t express his doubts. He had no idea whether he would be able to do this. Had the woman who once did this to him used a particular incantation? Or was it simply touch-magic? He brushed his concerns aside and reached across, smiling gently at Morgana.

Her hands were smooth and warm. As their skin met his eyes fluttered shut; all his senses muted. Instead, he saw with his magic. It inched out through his fingertips light and tentative, moving ever outwards in pace with his breath. He could feel Morgana’s wariness, but he felt no resistance. One distant part of him remained aware of the weight of his head as it stayed aloft, as well as the prickle of pins and needles in his crossed legs. The other part consisted of an indescribable sense of knowing and not knowing; ignorance and complete understanding all at once. His magic sought Morgana’s and found just a hint, a whisper, of gold. It was faint, but it was there, as though he could almost taste it, smell it, hear it. Enough of a sense for the world as he sensed it to shift and slide, so that his very own being seemed to narrow in on her magic, chasing its pale tracks, searching far deeper than he had thought to go, twisting and curling – he could feel his eyes twitching beneath his eyelids as they tried to look for something they could not see – and then all of a sudden his magic stopped, it pooled all in one place, and touched _her._

‘There!’ he exclaimed in a rush of breath.

But even before he spoke, the connection between them had begun to waver. Her magic was reclusive. It didn’t like being found. Instinctively, Morgana tensed and her magic recoiled with her; Merlin winced in shock as his own strained itself before snapping back within him. His eyes flashed open as she gasped.

‘Ugh,’ she muttered, glancing at him apologetically. ‘That felt strange.’

‘Kinda like a graze, isn’t it,’ he said. ‘Sorry. I let go too fast.’

‘That’s alright. Did it work?’

‘Well, I found your magic. But . . .’

‘What?!’ she demanded. ‘Is there something wrong? I know I reacted badly.’

Merlin shook his head emphatically. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong. You’ve just hidden your magic deep, that’s all.’

‘And that’s not a good thing?’ she asked, voice wavering slightly.

He felt a rush of pity. ‘It is if you don’t want it to be found. If you don’t want it out. But,’ he said, brightening, ‘I’ve found it, and that’s a start! To be honest, I didn’t know I would even be able to do that.’

Briefly, he looked at Lance. He was watching them intently, and his reassuring smile was barely visible but Merlin knew his face well enough to recognise it in his eyes. He knew about the woman who had done this to Merlin; he understood the storm of fear and hopelessness that she raised in him.

‘But I did it,’ Merlin continued, returning his attention to Morgana, ‘and now it’s just a matter of getting you familiar with drawing it out yourself.’

They continued practising until the evening turned to full, heavy night, with Merlin helping her locate her own magical core, then acting as her guide as she began coaxing it out. Morgana was a slow learner, but she improved steadily. They took baby steps.

‘Ugh! How am I meant to keep a hold on it if I can’t control it?! It keeps slipping away!’

‘It’s like stretching a muscle,’ he said. ‘You’re so used to holding it as close to you as you can, scrunching it up so that you can barely see it. Before you can let it all free, you have to get it used to being stretched out. Otherwise it will just snap back, like mine did that first time. Here, let’s try again.’

They held hands again.

Eventually, Morgana learnt to grab hold of her magic by herself and – most importantly – keep her grasp as she uncoiled it. This was, after many hours, rather momentous.

‘I did it!’ she squealed. ‘Merlin! Lance! I did it!’

She jumped up and drew Lance into an enthusiastic hug, her cheeks pink. Merlin laughed and flopped backwards, arms splayed.

‘What next?’ she asked, once she’d let Lance go (he gave her a bemused pat on the head). 

Merlin grinned, then tried to stifle a yawn. ‘Home, I think. And for you specifically – practise. A lot of it.’

 

*

 

Arthur straightened his tie as he entered the meeting-room. His father and Leon were there, as well as a smattering of other Pendragon officers and detectives, all standing over a table covered in a chaos of documents.

‘Arthur!’ A round, greying man named Perkins held out his hand as he neared. ‘How are you feeling?’

He shook his hand while feeling Uther’s gaze bore into him from across the table. ‘Much better, thank you. Ready to sink my teeth into this fiasco.’

‘Good. You deserve justice,’ said Leon. 

‘What are the leads?’

There wasn’t much. Despite the mess of papers, they could find no valuable leads on the sorcerer. They knew that he lived an isolated life, had no living family, and worked in an outdoor equipment store for the past ten years. A team had been there already and the owner of the business said the sorcerer was quiet and kept to himself, that he’d never shown any signs of violence or magic, that he’d seemed like a decent man.

Uther had scoffed when a detective named Mainor read that statement out.

The sorcerer lived in an apartment in town. He owned a cat. He went about his life like any other person. He shopped once every two weeks for groceries; he never bought meat. He paid his taxes consistently. He hadn’t left the country in four years. He’d come straight from his empty home to Pendragon Security headquarters without stopping to talk to anyone except the barista in the café.

‘When he attacked me, he said he was doing it for vengeance. His family – they’re all dead, right? – were they sorcerers too?’

There was a scramble for the right document. ‘His parents died of natural causes as far as we know. There’s no record of any siblings.’

‘Vengeance for who, then?’ Arthur asked.

‘There’s a chance he simply meant revenge for all sorcerers. We have multiple witnesses who have said they heard him blame you for making him “the last of his kind”,’ Leon said, frowning. ‘I doubt he is the last sorcerer at large in Camelot, but perhaps he thought he was.’

‘Or it was a bluff,’ Uther said. ‘We cannot trust anything he has said.’

‘Why else would he attack, though? If not for revenge, then what?’

‘Decoy?’ Perkins suggested lamely.

‘We can’t just overlook what he’s said!’ Mainor argued, her face reddening as she contradicted Uther. ‘That leaves us with absolutely nothing to go on. The info we have on his life makes it very difficult to see how he would have felt anything _but_ isolated! I don’t think there’s any secret motivation. He was bitter about the decline of magic, and he lashed out because of it.’

‘I agree,’ Arthur said. ‘There’s no evidence of anything otherwise.’

‘Even if that is the case, we must remain alert. Camelot’s safety is paramount,’ Uther said.

‘Have we still got the prisoner?’ Arthur asked, slightly nervous all of a sudden. ‘Or is he over the wall?’

‘He’s here. In cold iron.’

‘Do I have permission to speak to him? I’d like to ask him some questions.’

‘He’s already been interviewed . . .’ Perkins began.

Uther interrupted. ‘A face to face interview with the man he tried to attack might provoke more of a response. I give my permission, Arthur.’

Arthur nodded his appreciation.

Jobs and appointments were doled out over the rest of the meeting, but Arthur’s thoughts were already with the sorcerer, Alvarr, deep in the prison beneath the building. He would be lying if he said there was not an uneasy sort of trepidation rising in his stomach. He would be in the same room as a sorcerer.

As he left the meeting, he became suddenly aware of a shadow at his elbow. He swirled to face it, worried by a mind full of sorcerers and the memory of his attack, and almost lost his balance.

Then he saw who it was. ‘Oh. Merlin.’

He _really_ needed to get a handle on his nerves.

He continued to speedily navigate his way through the building, mostly unaware of Merlin’s attempts to catch his eye as he tried to match Arthur’s pace.

‘Arthur . . .?’

‘What is it? I’m a bit busy, if you couldn’t already tell.’

Merlin looked affronted. ‘I was just wondering, do you need me to actually do anything? Or is it my job to just follow you around everywhere?’

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Well, no. . . but, I suppose. . .’

‘Am I not supposed to be here? I’m still getting used to this whole malarkey.’

‘No, you’re fine. Here, hold this.’ He piled the heavy box full of documents he had been carrying into Merlin’s arms, who immediately started to complain about the weight. ‘My assistants aren’t allowed to complain,’ he added.

‘Oh, _lovely_ ,’ he replied with extreme sarcasm. ‘Where are we going?’

‘My office.’

Arthur strode towards the elevators again, this time with Merlin in tow.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Work, Merlin.’

‘What sort of work?’

‘That’s classified.’

‘Even to me?’ Merlin grinned at him over the pile of paper.

‘Please be quiet,’ Arthur groaned. ‘I can fire you, you know.’

‘Is it about the sorcerer?’

‘ _Mer_ lin,’ Arthur warned.

‘I just thought, seeing as, you know, I was a bit involved that you could maybe tell me what’s been going on?’

‘Classified,’ Arthur repeated.

‘But how am I supposed to assist you if I don’t know what’s happening?’

He had a fair point. But Arthur wasn’t going to say that. ‘Your job, Merlin, is to make sure that I am rested and fed and comfortable and that I get enough peace and quiet to be able to do _my job_ well. So you can carry my things, and tidy my office, and type up my emails, and fetch me my lunches. And _shut up._ ’

Merlin went quiet then.

But only until the elevator doors opened.

‘Wow!’ he breathed. ‘This is your office?’

‘It’s the floor my office is on, yes.’

‘It’s so . . . shiny.’

‘It is compared to Gaius’s lab,’ Arthur scoffed.

‘Hey, Gaius’s lab was great. I bet you couldn’t spill a cup of tea in here without setting an alarm off.’

‘Don’t even think about spilling my drinks on anything, alright?’

‘Yes, oh my lord Pendragon,’ Merlin said. He dumped his armful onto Arthur’s desk as soon as they reached it. ‘Do you have to read all that?’

‘Didn’t I tell you to shut up?’

‘Maybe,’ he grinned. ‘That’s not an easy thing for me to do.’

‘Just do it.’

For a moment – the smallest of moments, a moment so pure and untarnished – Merlin was quiet. Arthur almost managed to focus his attention back onto the sorcerer.  

‘But do you read it all, though?’

Arthur let out an almighty groan, half-amused, half-annoyed. ‘Yes! Now for the love of god, fetch me a coffee or something. Please!’

Arthur caught a glimpse of a catlike grin spreading across Merlin’s face as he scampered away. _He’s actually trying to be a nuisance,_ he thought. _Damn him._

He sat down with a huff, and rifled through the folder on Alvarr. What on earth was he going to say? The man was a mystery. Why would someone come out of nowhere and attack like that? Something had to have happened to him. A death, or a run-in, or a pregnant woman he loved put over the wall . . . Arthur made a mental note to check if there had been any positive test results in the last few months. That might be a lead. He didn’t think there had been any, though. They would have heard about it; there hadn’t been one in months – perhaps years, if he actually thought about it.

In fact, there had been barely any magical activity in Camelot at all except for those thefts. And now this attack. He’d heard the rumours; people believed Alvarr was the one responsible. What a luxury it would be if he could believe it too. It would be so easy to let the puzzle pieces fit together. And then – imagine it – Alvarr, the last sorcerer in Camelot, gone because of Arthur. In a way, he would be renowned as the one who drew the last rat out of hiding. Uther might even be proud. Arthur smiled faintly at the thought.

But the possibility also made him deeply uneasy. It was just too simple.

Noticing that he was erratically tapping a pen on the desk, Arthur threw it down with a huff and leaned back in his chair, massaging his temples. A ray of sunlight streamed across his desk. It revealed all the gently whirling dust-motes, shifting and swirling with his breath, rising, falling and drifting without rhyme or reason. He watched it in silence, thinking.

When Merlin returned with a cup of coffee, he was ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year!!! - here's a new chapter!!!  
> every year that goes by I get more and more shocked at how long this fanfiction is taking me to write. what you guys (if there is anybody still reading this, or reading this far...... say hi if you are! i <3 you) don't know is that I started writing it about a year before I published the first chapter on here too. that's four whole years. oh dear.
> 
> anyway --- i hope you enjoyed reading! <3 <3 <3


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